


Catch Float

by deltachye



Category: The Maze Runner Series (Books), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: CYOA, F/M, Multiple Endings, Reader-Insert, Romance, angst? intrigue?? idk mate it's wild, wwyff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-10-07 10:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10358529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x thomas/newt/minho; cyoa/wwyff format]"His face came to mind. Even though you hadn’t ever seen him before—you couldn’t remember seeing anybody, not even yourself—you felt as if he was the one letting you breathe easy.It was only too bad that you didn’t know why."





	1. 1

❝ FLOAT, CATCH, BLEED, DEATH, STIFF, PUSH. ❞

* * *

 

 

Silence; and then death. That was what it was like when you woke up, thrown against a wall by sheer momentum and divine anger. Opening your eyes did you no good and your hands met nothing but a cold, alien smooth surface. If this was your ride to Heaven, it sure as Hell sucked, and you wanted a damn refund.

The screeching of metal was ear piercing and you couldn’t concentrate on anything, your thoughts scattering like blackened bone dust to the wind. It left you with nothing to distract you from your fear. The fear was cold, even more so than the rattling floor beneath your feet. You had no idea where you were, where you were going—who were _you_? The feeling of emptiness squeezed your lungs until—

Your name. The name came easy and gave you a short breath of relief as the metal box continued to fling you around. It seemed to be moving downwards, judging from the sickening feeling of weightlessness in your gut. But it’d go this way and then that, as if it were freefalling into a tempest filled abyss. For a terrifying second you wondered which way was up. In the back of your mind, you knew that the feeling of reduced weight was due to downwards acceleration, but you didn’t know how you knew it. You didn’t know anything anymore. All you knew was your name, and that you were afraid—so you clung to both of those realities, curling into a tight ball in what you felt to be the corner, and braced yourself.

It all stopped in a sudden, jerking moment and you finally heard yourself breathing. You opened your eyes again, a bit more adjusted to the dim lighting. There was nothing else in the box with you. Slowly, you patted yourself down and found nothing but a clean grey t-shirt and roughened up leggings, paired with old sneakers with a hole in the side. The outfit didn’t feel familiar to you, but the clothes fit so well that you had to assume they were yours. You found the courage to get up and began to walk around now, swallowing your apprehension to concentrate on getting out of the place. All the walls and edges were smooth, perfectly crafted, and you felt despair tickling the back of your neck as you felt around uselessly.

But then there was a sudden noise. It was jarring to hear something besides yourself, but you got past the stage of paralysation and banged on the wall, and then on the lid, hoping that whatever it was out there could hear you. There was an image of you running out of air in this box and you started kicking more desperately, ignoring the sensations of pain in your fists and feet. You would’ve starting screaming for help before the top part opened up, sliding smoothly and blinding you with radiant light.

If this were Heaven, you still weren’t impressed, and really wanted to cash in a refund.

A rope was tossed down like the fast moving head of a snake. The edges of the lid made it impossible to see whatever was up there besides a blue sky, completely cloudless. You eyed the rope tentatively, hearing murmuring voices above. Finally, you decided that the braided rope had to be better than the box and grabbed on, hauling yourself up with little difficulty as somebody helped yank you over the edge.

When you emerged, you quickly gulped down air, the warning of suffocation far too close for comfort. You felt dry grass beneath your palms and scrunched them up into fists, feeling how the strands popped as you pulled them out of the Earth. When you looked up, you faced the masses. There was a large group of boys, something like sixty strong, and they all looked surprised to see you.

“You all angels?” you asked weakly, hoping to lighten the horrified fog that seemed to be hovering over them. They were all male in appearance, looking just like the one next to him in their dirty faces and incredulous furrowed brows. When there was no response, you took it upon yourself to get up to your feet awkwardly.

“Guess not, then.”

“You’re… not a boy,” somebody said at the front, pointing at you. You blinked and looked down at yourself. It was true that you were born a girl and identified as one, but you still didn’t get why this was such a big deal for them.

“No?” you agreed, hoping that humouring them would get you more answers. You looked around more, your eyes lingering on the gigantic stone walls that seemed to be somewhere in your vision no matter where you looked. They loomed over you, so out of place in the idyllic field that you felt cold despite the sun. Shivering, you turned back to the group of boys, your eyes pleading with each of them. “Is that a problem? I mean… can you just tell me where I am?”

“The Glade.”

A dark haired boy with friendly brown eyes stepped forwards. He was still eyeing you up curiously and crossed his arms, staying a safe foot away from you.

“What’s your name?”

You told it to him, managing not to stutter to your eternal relief. You couldn’t help but look at the crowd behind him as you spoke, wondering why they were so silent.

“Mine’s Thomas. That’s Newt, that’s Alby, that’s Chuck, and that’s—”

“—great and all, Tommy, but can we focus on the more important thing?”

The one he’d called Newt shuffled forwards, dragging a conspicuously bad leg. His look was much rougher than Thomas’ and he even glared at you, making you shrink back. His accent was clipped, somewhat familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint it. He jerked his head at you.

“Why isn’t she like the rest of us?”

Thomas shrugged helplessly, understandably unable to answer the question.

“I mean… it’s not like I had a choice,” you piped up in an attempt to defend yourself. Newt seemed to notice you as a human for the first time and looked startled, before the expression softened into a more sheepish one.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and you felt it was genuine. “But I just… this is just…”

“Weird,” Thomas finished. He gestured around with a hand. “I mean, I just got here myself, but… it’s not like anybody else is…” Air quotations. “‘Like you’. You know? So this is weird.”

“I guess,” you mumbled. You still felt unreasonably guilty for crashing these people’s whole ‘Guys Only!” club. There was an awkward silence as you stared at the both of them.

“U-um,” Newt stammered, before turning to the crowd, who were still craning their necks to see what was going on with you. “Scram, you slintheads! We’ve got work to do, don’t we?!”

They burst out in a spore-filled cacophony of resentful murmurs and dirty looks, but obeyed reluctantly, slowly meandering around to what seemed like assigned posts. Sounds of work and talk refilled the Glade and you felt that something had been restored, letting you take a tentative breath of respite.

“So… I’m thinking we should wait until everybody gets back and hold a Gathering. To talk about…” Newt gestured at you awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “…her. And what that means.”

“Yeah,” Thomas agreed. “Minho should be back any second. I think he was the last one in the maze—yeah, there he is.”

You turned to where Thomas pointed and saw a tanned Asian boy run in from an opening between the walls. You didn’t expect anything to be anywhere near those gargantuan things, but he ran past them like he’d done it a million times before. He was jogging and sweat poured off of him in glistening sheets. His angular eyes met yours briefly, but then he froze, his footwork failing, nearly planting him on his face.

“Newt!” the boy, presumably Minho, yelled loudly. He pointed at you shamelessly, one hand on a knee as he caught his breath. “Am I jacked or does that buggin’ Greenie have…” He pantomimed breasts on himself.

“Just get to the map room already you—!” Newt stopped himself, grinding his teeth together with a low growl. He didn’t need to say it to get it heard. Minho gave you a last, curious look before trotting away obediently, as if you weren’t interesting enough to keep at. His sudden indifference almost made you wish that he’d keep waving the air around his chest. Almost.

“Hey. I know this must be confusing, but everything’ll be all right. The guys are good people. You’ll pick things up pretty fast.”

Thomas patted you once on the shoulder and the touch was resoundingly warm. You turned back and gave him a feeble smile, getting a much brighter one in return. Somehow, you could believe everything he said. He seemed to radiate a good aura about him.

“Tommy’s the Greenbean before you, so he can probably help you out when he’s not running. I’m Newt. You can think of me as second-in-command in these places.”

Newt extended a hand in a more formal way, but when you shook it, the hand was firm. It was coarse with work but gripped yours in an all-consuming way that made you feel a bit more secure, and you were sorry to let go.

“Let’s get you a drink of water or something while Minho’s drawing up his map. I’ll try to answer the questions you have. I’m sure you have a lot.”

You chewed a lip, looking up at the sky. There were still no clouds in sight, but the blue dipped into orange, and then into red in a smooth gradient plate. Somehow, your breathing came a bit easier, as if something around you was easing your worries. You couldn’t help but feel strangely calm as you walked with Thomas, and it was like you had seen things before through another person’s eyes. A past life, maybe. The feeling of déjà vu hit you hard and you remembered _his_ face all of the sudden. Even though you hadn’t ever seen him before—you couldn’t remember seeing anybody, not even yourself—you felt as if he was the one letting you breathe easy.

It was only too bad that you didn’t know why.

 

\---

After getting in a couple bites of a plain sandwich, you were whisked away into another dark room that was lit with rudimentary flashlights positioned precariously via duct tape. You’d thought you were done with tiny boxes, but this one was jam packed with other boys, all of whom were giving you the stink eye. Apparently, the little gathering was called, creatively, a ‘Gathering’. You had to be grateful that Thomas kept muttering translations to you under his breath as people talked. Despite the fact that they spoke English, it was all in some sort of dialect you hadn’t learnt, and you couldn’t help the feeling that you were swimming without the use of your arms and legs. One boy in particular kept his gaze dead set on you, glaring hard. You shifted uncomfortably, despite the fact that both Thomas and Newt were shielding you on both sides.

“Why’s Thomas here?”

The last boy came in and everybody made room, making you assume that he was the head honcho. Thomas chewed the inside of his lip, looking guilty.

“I just thought it’d make her more comfortable if she had somebody she knew—”

“The hell, shuckface? We trying to make things comfortable, now?” The dark skinned boy threw his hands up, his teeth strikingly white as he grinned without humour. “Two years and nothing’s changed. Suddenly, a chick pops her head out of the ground. No, there’s not going to be any _comfort_. I want answers.”

“Alby, stuff it. We’re not animals.”

Newt came to your defense now, even getting up to his feet. You saw a flash of pain cross his features as he did, but he stood tall, glaring at the even taller Alby. There was tense silence and you felt your heartbeat quicken apprehensively. Then, somebody whistled and you looked, recognizing Minho as he chewed on something with a smug grin. His feet were kicked up on the table, his arms were crossed behind his head, and he was laughing before he said anything.

“Want to measure, boys? Whip ‘em out, why don’t you! I’m sure we’d all like to know.”

Disgustedly, Alby grimaced, but his anger seemed to dissipate. He ran a hand through his cropped, curly hair.

“Fine,” he spat, “Thomas can stay. But on the condition that _she_ tells what the hell’s going on.”

Alby jerked a threatening finger to you, but sat down slowly. Newt collapsed back into his chair, a short harrowed breath escaping him.

“Are you okay?” you asked him worriedly, but he shook you off silently. He still looked to be in pain, but you were pretty sure he wasn’t up to have a chatty conversation when the Gathering was in full swing, so you bit your lip and left it at that.

“Are _you_ okay?” Thomas asked from your other side. Hesitantly, you shrugged, not wanting to lie but not able to tell him what he wanted to hear. He opened his mouth to say something else before Alby cleared his throat.

“So.” He seemed to be avoiding the use of your name and leant forwards on the table. He was sat opposite you, and his weight rocked the homemade desk so that you lurched towards him. “Why’re you here?”

“I don’t know,” you repeated adamantly, having said this a billion times to everybody who’d asked. “I don’t remember anything at all—”

“Old news,” Alby barked. “We all don’t know shuck about where we came from! But why are _you_ here?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” you repeated again, gritting your teeth to avoid lashing out at the leader of the entire place. You didn’t know why people kept blaming you for what was happening, and your hands tightened into fists as you levelled out your tone. “I’m sorry. I wish I did. Maybe there was a mix-up, or maybe… I don’t know. But I can’t tell you anything.”

“You sure you aren’t tucking anything down there?” Minho asked, shooting into the conversation before Alby could say anything. You started getting used to these brash outbursts of his and snorted with dry amusement.

“Want me to whip it out or something?”

His eyebrows shot up before an approving smile spread across his features. He took his feet off the desk and stood up, stretching, and then began to walk off without another word. Newt cleared his throat loudly.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Minho?”

“To take a klunk. Where else? It’s not like I’m going to do it in front of you shanks—”

“Minho,” Alby warned in an irritated voice as if this had already happened several times before. “This is important.”

“Is it really? ‘Cause all I see is a chick who ended up here like the rest of us. She’s not that different from when you and I tumbled out here. It doesn’t matter that she’s a girl.”

“Yes it does!” Alby fumed. “Why did things change all of the sudden? Why—!?”

“I don’t _care_ , big guy,” Minho sang out, cutting him off with such insolence that you couldn’t help but worry about what would happen to him after the Gathering was adjourned. Minho snorted with enjoyment, his gaze flicking to you for a second. He jerked his head to you. “She’s okay in my book. If she was put in the Box to kill us all, I’d be pretty glad that it’d be by somebody hot.”

You had to press your lips together to repress the embarrassed smile, knowing that grinning would paint you like a fool. Minho took his leave, whistling as he left. Alby ground his teeth and then sat back in his chair, letting out an enormous sigh of defeat. He rubbed his face tiredly.

“All right. Minho’s a moron, as always, but you other Keepers have some say in this too. What do you want to do with…” he waved a hand at you. “Her?”

“Alby. She has a name,” Thomas reminded in a polite tone that was edged with warning. Alby scowled, giving you a cursory glance. Bluntly, he ignored you and turned to the person nearest his left.

“Gally?”

Everybody around the round table went, with Newt taking diligent notes. Although they all agreed that it was weird that you were different, they didn’t say anything about confining you or questioning you. They all seemed to be hesitant to even mention it, avoiding looking at you or referencing you entirely. You weren’t sure what was worse: being completely ignored or being an object of suspicion.

“Newt. Tell me what you think.”

Newt put down the pad and sighed. He glanced to you, his hair shifting to show you his face. It was smooth and strong, but his dark blue eyes seemed to hold a distant sadness, as if there was something deeper behind them.

“I think we should just treat her same as we always do with Greenies.”

Alby’s eyebrows arched suspiciously and even Thomas drew in a confused breath. That was the most outrageously ‘out there’ response given, and Newt continued before anybody could question him.

“It is what it is. She can’t change herself, and we’ll get nothing done if we keep treating her like some animal to poke at. Assign her a job and move on. Maybe the people controlling the Box will give us more info soon. We won’t know, but hissing about it won’t do squat.”

You breathed a ‘thank you’ under your breath when he finished. Newt gave you a private smile that made your heart flutter, and you looked away quickly, fearing that making him look like he was favouring you would screw him over.

“Does anybody actually agree with that?” Alby asked with some incredulity. He looked around. “Hand up if you do.”

Everybody seemed to be waving at you now, and tears of gratitude welled in your eyes. But you didn’t want to cry in the stink room of dudes, especially in front of Alby, so you merely bowed your head and kept quiet as Alby counted.

“Y’all are stupid,” Alby grumbled. “But… if that’s the consensus, then that’s what it’ll be. Thomas, explain to her what all the roles are, okay?”

“Gladly,” Thomas agreed, sounding incredibly excited for you. You couldn’t help but absorb some of his positivity and let out a bit of a smile of your own. People began filing out, including Newt, and your eyes lingered on his back as he limped out. He said nothing to you on the way out, but gave you another smile that was marred by a poor attempt to hold back pain. You hoped that he’d be all right.

“So,” Thomas said, after they’d all left. “There’s a couple of major roles that people around here fill. Med-jacks are medics, Track-hoes work the fields… there’s also Cooks, Slicers, Builders, Baggers—”

“What are _you_?” you cut in, your head swimming dizzily with the terminology he was throwing at you. He blinked and his expression changed, becoming a bit more reserved and wary.

“I’m a Runner.”

“So… what, you run?”

“Basically.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Out in the maze. It’s dangerous stuff, so I wouldn’t expect you to want to go for it. At all, even.”

“Why’s it dangerous?”

“There’s… _things_ out there. We call them Grievers but… I wish I could’ve gone through my life without ever seeing one.” He shivered with physical repulsion from the memory and you swallowed thickly, a chill running down your own spine just from hearing him talk about it.

“But uh, what kind of skills do you have?” Thomas asked, shifting the subject. “There’s also a job for people who aren’t good at anything. Sloppers. They do things nobody else really wants to, but they’re important. You usually work your way through the roles to find where you can fit in. If you don’t, then you’ll end up there.”

“I don’t really… remember. I don’t even know what I look like.” You couldn’t help but touch your face, feeling the ends of your hair and the curve of your jaw. You tried to imagine yourself, but nothing came to mind. Thomas’ face softened.

“You look beautiful.” Then he seemed to be aware that he’d said it aloud and blushed, a red tinge coming across his suntanned face. “Sorry,” he stammered, “I mean—”

“No… um, thanks. That means a lot to me right now.” You felt your own face warm pleasantly and he exhaled with relief.

“Then… what’s your gut feeling? What do you think you want to be?”

“Me? Well…” you concentrated on your first instinct, as he’d asked, and said the first thing that popped up.

“I want to be…”

 

**PAGE 2: A med-jack.  
PAGE 3: A runner.  
PAGE 4: A slopper.**


	2. 2

_A medjack._

“A med-jack?” Thomas repeated, his dark eyelashes fluttering. You shrugged sheepishly, not sure why you felt so embarrassed.

“I want to be helpful. I think I can do simple things like bandaging and whatnot. Also… Newt seems like he’s in a lot of pain.” The blond boy’s grimaces suddenly flashed to mind and you frowned slightly, still finding yourself to be worrying about him even though he’d long gone. You fidgeted restlessly, feeling as if you had to justify yourself. “I want to try and help him out. You know?”

Thomas nodded thoughtfully. “You noticed, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard not to. Did it just happen, or…?” You realized it might be insensitive to be asking about somebody’s life without them present and shook your head. “Oh, but it’s not my place to ask. Nevermind.”

“I don’t think he’d mind too much,” Thomas reasoned agreeably. He sighed thoughtfully, kneading his temples a bit. “I’ll let him decide if he wants to tell you _how_ it happened. But it was a while back. Way before I got here. It’s been getting worse with time, and some days he can’t really walk around at all. He thinks nobody notices, but as you can see, he does a terrible job of hiding it.” 

Thomas got up and you followed suit, taking his extended hand as he helped you out of the chair. He let go, but had a gentle smile on his face. “You’re a good person to be so considerate to somebody you’ve just met.”

You smiled shyly, hating yourself for being so easily pleased. You also tried to swat down the hope that Newt would feel the same. “You think so?”

“I know so. I’ll let the med-jacks know that you want to take up with them after doing rounds. Anyways, let’s get to bed. The Box came a lot later than usual.”

_Continue with the story on page 5._


	3. 3

_A runner._

“A runner?” Thomas repeated, his face wrinkling somewhat with visible disgust. You felt yourself recoil defensively.

“Yeah,” you agreed snappishly. “You’re a runner, too. Are you saying I can’t be, or something?”

“No, not that. It’s just…” He seemed to be looking for the right word to say, picking at a disfigured wood burl in the table. Finally, he turned his dark eyes back to you, still looking a bit disconcerted. “I just think it’s best to let as few people as possible go out into the maze.”

“Why?” you demanded, feeling a sting of hurt from his immediate rejection. “There’s those Griever things you talked about, but I can handle myself. I know I can.”

“I thought I could too,” he muttered under his breath, sighing deeply, in a way that you almost didn’t hear at all. But he didn’t elaborate on it or speak up, and instead plucked himself out of his chair. You scrambled after him, afraid that you’d betrayed the one friend you had with your aspirations somehow, but he merely gave you a defeated and grim nod.

“Well, if your heart’s set on it, I won’t stop you. I just hope you change your mind. It’s not fun and games here.”

“Saying that to me only makes me more stubborn,” you retorted peevishly. His eyes flashed and to your surprise, he laughed a bit, his brown eyes glimmering with amusement.

“You know who you remind me of? You remind me of Minho. He’s practically a bull. You two will either get along great or be worst enemies.” He shook his head with distant wonder before gesturing to the jerry-rigged door. “Let’s get back outside. The Box you were in usually comes earlier than this, so it’s already really late.”

_Continue with the story on page 5._


	4. 4

_A slopper._

“A slopper?” Thomas repeated with some incredulity. A smile that he was obviously trying very ineffectively to repress bloomed on his face, showing a crooked tooth that characterized his goofy grin. You couldn’t help but start blushing furiously.

“What?” you asked embarrassedly, “I’m not good at anything, so I might as well cut the bull and get straight to it!”

“Somehow, I highly doubt that.” He pressed his lips together to hide his smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll probably find something that clicks with you.”

“If nothing does?” you challenged.

“Then, uh... I guess you’ll be the best Slopper there ever was.”

The both of you shared a laugh in the empty Gathering room, and you felt a certain giddiness bubble in your stomach, like the two of you had a secret that none of the others knew. You hadn’t even known Thomas for more than a few hours, but already he had protected you and made sure that you had a friend in unfamiliar waters. You were grateful, but decided that thanking him repetitively would be annoying, and instead smiled at him warmly. You’d pay it back to him.

He yawned widely behind his arm and then got to his feet, extending a hand to you. You took it and he hauled you out of the wobbly hand-made chairs, steadying you as you caught your footing on a hidden vine. It pulled you a bit closer to him, enough so that you could smell faint hints of Earthy bark and soil and sweat coming off of him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse as it dropped to a whisper. You swallowed and stepped back, suddenly flustered with how close you were.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Okay. Then let’s go back out. The guys will probably badger you, but I’m sure you’re tired. The Box came later than it normally does, apparently, so it’s already night.” He held a hand out to you again, despite the fact that you could manage to cross the bumpy floor yourself. Still, you took it, taking comfort in the fact that he was the only concrete thing in what was happening to you.

_Continue with the story on page 5._


	5. 5

Just as Thomas said, night had fallen hard during the Gathering, leaving the plate of sky above totally black. No stars dotted the infinitely deep plane. You faintly wondered how you knew there was supposed to be stars when you had no memory of seeing them with anybody; there was a faint tickling, like you _should_ have known, but no matter how hard you tried to remember the break of recollection, it remained out of your grasp. His face appeared in your head again and you had to shake yourself to get rid of the image. You didn’t know why you kept thinking of him. You had no real memories of him, up until today. It was probably creepy; but you justified yourself by forgetting about it and trudging onwards.

The Gladers had set up a strategic placement of spaced out Christmas lights and lanterns to light most of the Glade. The air was faintly humid but warm, enough so that you didn’t feel that you had to worry about the cold. You asked Thomas if it rained and he shook his head.

“The weather’s been the same for as long as we’ve been here, I hear.”

That seemed strange. There was hardly even a draft of wind on your skin, much less a sign of real weather. Still, you accepted it without protest, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to you in heavy, unforgiving sheets. You’d sprung out in a walled off enclosure with no memories, surrounded by a damn ‘maze’, and you were the only girl in a sea of guys to boot. There were enough worries to deal with for a lifetime, and it took its toll in crashing exhaustion. Your eyelids begged for sleep, and you stumbled after Thomas, nearly tripping on somebody who was sleeping on the ground.

“Newt had a hammock strung up for you. He thought it’d be better if you were kind of kept away from everybody else. No offense.” Thomas explained quietly, as not to disturb the sleeping boys. But from the sheer magnitude of eyes on you, you had a feeling that they weren’t sleeping at all, and didn’t mind listening in. 

“Thanks.” It was considerate of Newt, you supposed, and had a sleepy smile to yourself.

Thomas located it and tugged on the strings, showing you it was steady. He gave you a fleeting smile before picking away through a few other boys, leaving you behind after an abrupt “sleep tight”. You didn’t want him to go and almost called after him, but hastily swallowed it, not wanting to look like a whiny baby. There was constant pressure on you now, and you didn’t need to soil your rep further. 

You looked around carefully, but there were no other hammocks in this section, the trees spread out quite a few meters to your right. A few boys littered the ground in sleeping bags, but they appeared to have been pushed far away from your set of trees. Defiantly, only one was nestled right up in the blast radius. The person in the lone pile of blankets was already snoring away. From what you could make out in the dim lights, it was Minho, the one other boy you could recognize by name. By being dead asleep, he made you feel a bit more reassured, like everything was all right after all. You clambered into the too-tall, too-big hammock awkwardly. The rough fabric of an old bed-sheet enveloped you like the jaws of a hungry Venus fly trap around a tiny fly. You stared up at the cloudless, starless sky, and thought on yourself—memoryless, clueless, and afraid.

Despite it, sleep knocked, and you answered.

\---

You woke yourself up in a jerky fashion, the sun’s rays bright on your red eyelids. You nearly twirled yourself out of the hammock as you scrambled, trying to remember where you were. Your feet hit grass and you finally remembered what had happened last night. It slammed back onto you in despairingly heavy waves. As you peered around, you noticed people either staring or pretending poorly that they weren’t staring. It made you blush a bit, feeling self-conscious under so many eyes. You wished you could’ve rolled yourself back into the hammock, but you spotted Newt limping over, a misshapen apple and plastic bottle of water in each hand. 

“Sleep well?” he asked wryly.

“Well enough, I guess.”

You accepted the food graciously and drank heavily, tuckered out from your delirious fever dreams. They were too faint to remember, but all you remembered was a lingering sense of unease. He’d been in those dreams too, once again, reminding you that it was weird to be thinking of this guy so much when he hardly knew you at all. You bit into the soft, grainy apple and chewed, occasionally glancing to Newt. He said nothing, having lowered himself onto the ground, and picked at the dirt. Finally, you decided to say something and asked,

“So… what’s your story? How did you end up here?”

He blinked, seemingly surprised to hear you talk. But he moved past it and shrugged, tossing the pile of grass he’d collected to the wind, where it scattered.

“I’m one of the oldest, along with Alby and Minho. The ones before… they didn’t make it. We’re the last originals. We came up in the Box like you did, only, there was nobody here yet.”

“‘Make it’?” you repeated, the sweet apple flesh suddenly dry in your throat. “You mean they actually…?”

He gestured off somewhere deeper into the forest. You looked, but didn’t see anything—still, there could be nothing good behind the toweringly large pine trees, and you shivered. Eating didn’t seem like a great option anymore. He noticed you lowering the apple and shook his head.

“You’ll want to finish that. Wasting food’s an offence here.”

“An offence? So you actually have laws?” Obligingly, you began to eat again, reassured when a thin smile broke out across his features. It was faintly sardonic in nature, but you were glad to see the change of expression. 

“Yeah, something like that. Alby and I, we did the best we could, y’know? There was Hooky before us, but…” He trailed off, but you understood.

“So you built a whole civilization by yourselves. You came up in the Box with no memories, but you managed to get a whole crowd of people working together harmoniously.” You spit out an apple seed. “Not bad.”

“Nothing much,” he replied humbly. “It’s easy since we all want the same thing.”

“What’s that?”

“To get out of this shuckhole.”

You looked back up to the sky. “Yeah. I’m with you there. …assuming a shuckhole is what I think it is…”

Newt leant his head back, resting it on the tree trunk. “Tommy told me what role you were gunning for. Interesting choice.”

“He did?” you asked, bewildered, and feeling a bit embarrassed that Newt knew. You shifted forwards in your seat, trying to get a glimpse of his expression. “Well… what do you think?”

He eyed you, and you were hyperaware of your body. Each blink felt enormous and it was like you could count each fluttering hair on your head. He gave you a smile, then, much more genuine and subtly softer than before.

“I suppose it suits you.”

“Speaking of… where is Thomas?” You tried to look for him, but each face was unfamiliar. Newt had sat in Minho’s pile of blankets, the boy also absent.

“The Runners go out early to make sure they have enough time in the maze. Normally somebody would’ve woken you at the same time as everybody else, but uh…”

“You don't have to go soft on me because I’m a girl.” You swung the water bottle between your fingertips. “I can handle it. Promise.”

“Good. Because you’ll be starting off with the Track-hoes in the field. Bloody spiders everywhere… it’s rough work. I hate it; so good luck, chap.”

You couldn’t help a small cringe, but got up obligingly. Newt did as well, pulling himself up with the help of the tree. You bit your lip but the question accidentally spilled over,

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

He looked at you and then down to his leg. A shadow of a grimace came across his face before he waved you off again, in a way that began to annoy you, since it was obvious that he was just avoiding the subject clumsily. 

“Fine,” he muttered vaguely. He cleared his throat. “Anyways, go find Zart in the fields. He’s the Keeper and he’ll help you out.” He began to walk away before you called out his name. As he turned, you realized you had nothing to say, and stammered out the first thing that came to mind.

“Take care of yourself, Newt.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” Then his voice shifted and the expression softened. “…but thanks.” 

He left after that and you sighed deeply, putting down your water in the hammock and flicking your hair back. It was unbearably long, making you sweat as the air grew hotter with unrelenting sun. You didn’t have anything to tie it back with, and made the resolve to find a pair of scissors first thing. But before that came work, and you could only hope that Newt was joking about the bloody spiders.

\---

Track-hoeing was not for you. Maybe you could’ve liked plants, but you hated roasting to a crisp in the unforgiving sun. Sure enough, the bugs didn’t end at spiders, and you shivered as you felt phantom millipedes crawling down your shirt. Still, you did your best work, pulling at every last weed and lugging heavy jugs of water around as Zart asked. You still felt people’s eyes on you as you worked, as if they were waiting for you to mess up. It only filled you with determination. To your gratitude, the other gardening boys were kind and quiet, keeping to themselves and giving you the blissful peace of mind you craved. 

You worked all the way until the sky began to darken. Zart thanked you and sent you to the kitchen, where you collapsed in a chair thankfully. Your legs were shaking from squatting in the dirt all day. The cook, whom you now knew as Frypan, laughed at your red complexion.

“Ask one of the med-jacks for aloe vera,” he recommended, sliding cold strawberry flapjacks across the table with a glass of milk. You ate ravenously, before hearing somebody else come in. You saw it was Newt, but was too tried to wipe the sticky jam off your face and merely waved. He looked amused.

“Having fun?”

“Not at all,” you groaned. Hastily, you added, “not that I’m complaining. I’m just not a Track-hoe type of gal.”

“Fair that. I just came to check in on you. You’re good?”

“Yeah, enough. Thanks.”

Newt checked his watch and nodded knowingly. “Good that, then. It’s about time for the Runners to get back, too.”

“So Thomas and Minho will be back soon?”

He nodded again, but a bit more suspiciously. “Why’re you asking after them?”

You shrugged. “No reason. I should probably go around and get to know everybody. I think a day of work helped me collect myself.”

He seemed to be satisfied with your sudden optimism. “Good, then. The others are all badgering me with questions, so if you talk to them, maybe they’ll finally lay off of me—”

Before he could even finish his trivial thought, there was an eruption of panicked screaming outside. His eyes widened and he was out the door, sprinting as best as he could in his lopsided state. You called after him, but he was gone, so you turned to Frypan.

“What is it?” you asked, bewildered.

“I dunno,” the dark skinned boy replied with a shrug, but worry laced his tone. “The Runners, maybe?”

Thomas and Minho? You sprang out of your chair and raced out after Newt, trying to find the blond mop of hair as a crowd of boys began to swarm into the middle. Your heart pounded in your ears. You followed the mass of people, coming into earshot as Newt yelled.

“Minho, the hell happened to you?!”

“Shuckin’… Grievers out early… I _knew_ that the damn Beetle Blades were acting weird, and now I know why—hey, don’t touch me!”

You nudged yourself in between a pair of spectators and saw Minho sprawled onto the ground. Thomas was collapsed next to him with an arm supporting the other boy, his head bent down with obvious exhaustion. At first, you didn’t know what was up. Then your eyes caught on a tear in Minho’s pant leg, and your eyes quickly latched onto the rich red dying the torn up fabric. Your breath hitched in your throat as Newt knelt, trying to examine the wound.

“Did you get stung?” he asked urgently, looking up to Minho. “Because if you did—”

Minho shook his head, breathing in shallow breaths as he grimaced.

“Not stung. Just cut me with those freaky _things_ is all. But it still hurts like a shuckin’—God, Newt! I said don’t touch it!”

“Where’re the med-jacks?” Newt yelled out, turning around. His eyes locked onto yours and to your great surprise, he pointed at you. “Come here a second.”

“Me? Um, okay.”

You stumbled forwards, feeling propelled by people’s stares. You knelt next to Minho, who didn’t even seem to notice you, his face screwed up as he struggled to hold back outbursts of God knows what. You looked to Newt desperately.

“Well, that do you want me to do?”

“Just watch him until help comes. Try and stop the bleeding.”

“How am I supposed to—oh, you’re leaving. Great.” You watched helplessly as Newt took Thomas, dragging him out towards the Homestead. Thomas shot back a look at you, but his eyes were wild with raw fear, so different from the boy that you had known just yesterday. You felt a heavy weight stab you when you saw him stumbling behind Newt and hoped he was all right.

“What time is it?!” Minho spat out suddenly. You looked back to him, feeling your heart race.

“I don’t know. I don’t have a watch—”

“God!” He sucked in a tight breath and thrust his wrist out at you. The black watch face was splattered with a thin layer of crimson, and you squinted to read the tiny numbers.

“I-It’s 18:23.”

“Doors close in 2 minutes… where the hell is Niel?” He craned back to look at the Titan-like doors, and you looked too, seeing nothing but the misty dark opening to the maze.

“Niel?” you asked timidly.

“Niel—other runner. Shuckin’ shuck shuck!” He pulled his ankle back and touched it tenderly, letting out a drawn out groan of pure agony as he struggled to ease his shoe off. You bit your lip before staying silent, batting his bloody hands away and untying the shoelaces yourself. The cut had shorn through his socks, mangling skin with fabric so that you couldn’t tell what was what. You had nothing to staunch the bleeding with and looked back to the group of onlookers, who were hovering uselessly.

“Can I get bandages? Anything?!” you barked at them. One kid finally seemed to snap out of it and tossed you a relatively clean towel, which you pressed into Minho’s ragged skin. It looked as if a dull bread knife had sawed it clean, but you put the grotesque imagery away to focus. He howled and about shot away from you, but you held him down with sheer force.

“I need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding,” you told him bluntly as he writhed. “Stay still.”

“I would if it didn’t _hurt_!” he yelled, lying onto his back and clutching his hands into fists, biting them. Muffled, he complained, “c’mon, you can go softer than th _at_!”

As he lay there, he kept looking at his watch. You didn’t know what he was waiting for until he sat up all of the sudden, eyes wide with disbelief.

“That shuckin’ idiot. That moron. He’s not going to make it.”

“What?” you asked, bewildered.

“Niel!” he yelled, as if being louder would make you understand. “He’s not going to make it back in time!”

“I don’t—”

Just as you started to speak, the monolith walls on all four sides of the enclosure seemed to turn the Earth upside down. They rattled and scraped, angry to be restrained. As they closed, dark shadows casted upon the Glade to make everything feel cold. You cringed at the noise, wanting nothing more than to cover both ears, but kept your hands on Minho’s ankle.

“Goddamn…” Minho muttered, craning around awkwardly to look at each door. “He didn’t make it. Did he get…?”

“Minho!” Thomas yelled, running back over. “Is Niel—”

“He’s not going to make it!” Minho replied, sounding much less angry and more bitter all of the sudden. “Damn idiot!”

“Um, guys?”

“I told him to stay on track. The Beetle Blades were acting weird, but he should’ve been smart enough to come back early, or at least on time—”

“Guys!” you screamed shrilly, in order to be heard over the doors. You pointed. “Is that him?!”

They turned to look, following your finger. A shadowy figure was staggering towards the slow closing doors, before collapsing. You watched as they crawled, so far away that you couldn’t see their face, but close enough that you could feel the fear radiating off of him. 

“Dammit!” Minho roared. He tried to get up onto his feet, but you dragged him down.

“You can’t! You’ve lost too much blood—!”

“Get off of me!” he yelled hoarsely, trying to shake you off. On any other day, he probably could’ve easily thrown you over one of these impossibly high walls. But he was weak and pallid from his injury. Still, you were only able to keep him down by throwing your whole body weight on him, your arms wrapping around his torso and squeezing him close as you kept him from trying to squirm out the doors. He fought you, but you kept him down, trying to tell him that he shouldn’t go.

“Niel!” Thomas yelled. The doors were about a meter shut and Thomas was fourty away. And he was fast, but not fast enough. Nobody was. Sparks that were being ground up from the door lit the outside up for a second, and you saw Niel’s defeated face just as the doors slammed shut.

All was quiet again.

\---

“It’s her shuckin’ fault.”

Minho had been throwing these stinging gripes at you the whole time. You kept your head down as you held the bag the Med-jack was using to bandage Minho, but he kept glaring at you, his jaw moving side to side as he ground his teeth.

“Minho,” Newt sighed. “We’ve been over this.”

“If she’d just let me go—I was the closest one. I could’ve helped Niel.”

“No. What you would’ve done is get two people stuck outside instead of one,” Newt retorted sternly. He sighed, rubbing his face with a large hand. “Listen. It… it’s already bad enough that we have to let go of Niel, but—”

“We wouldn’t have had to let go of him if she’d let go of me.” Another glare. You avoided his gaze.

“Be reasonable Minho,” Thomas muttered, his hands clasped together as his knee jiggled, bouncing up and down in his chair. “It’s not her fault. She saved your life.”

“Oh Tommy! _Good_ that,” Minho shot mockingly, in a way that probably wasn’t very ‘good’. He scoffed. You bit your lip but continued to keep quiet, feeling that adding in any input would just make them even more upset with you.

“I’m done,” Clint said awkwardly, sensing the tension, and took the bag from you. His eyes flitted from you to Minho curiously. You shuffled to the side of the room, feeling very much that you’d like to take Niel’s place outside the walls if it’d get you away from Minho’s angry stare. Minho swung his legs over the bed, ignoring Newt’s tired command to stop.

“Yeah, well, she can go out there and dig Niel’s grave for him. Least she could do, right?”

“Minho—”

He stormed out past you, and you let out a small breath that you’d been holding ever since the walls slammed shut. Thomas stood and put a hand down on your shoulder.

“Look, he doesn’t really mean it. We’re all just kind of shocked, but what happened wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything.”

“Minho doesn’t think that,” you murmured. 

“Yeah, but—ugh.” Thomas seems to be at wit’s end to find nice words for you. “Minho’s just Minho. He’ll get over it.”

“Tommy’s right.”

Newt got up as well, stepping in front of you. Although he looked aged beyond his years, his eyes were the same, holding a dim light of kindness that was shadowed by mysterious sadness.

“Thanks. For keeping the slinthead alive. As much as it’s horrible to say… Minho’s more important.” He cringed as he said it, but muttered on. “He’s got experience, and that’s not something you can replace here. Niel didn't deserve it—Hell, nobody does—but…” Newt scratched his head and then sighed heavily, his entire frame drooping as if his life force had gone with the air. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to try and make me feel better,” you said to your shoes, shuffling. Your hands still had Minho’s dried blood on them and you swallowed thickly. Thomas noticed and gave a pitiful sigh.

“There’s a tap for you to wash up. Don’t worry about it too much, okay? We’ll see what happens next morning. Maybe Niel will make it through. He’s smart.”

“And if he doesn’t, it’s my fault, right?” You breathed a long sigh, and brushed past the two boys. You paused and gave them both pained smiles. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

You walked outside the Homestead, the night so much colder than it was yesterday, despite the fact that nothing had changed. Maybe the loss of one boy had taken a toll on the air temperature. Minho’s yelling and tantrums could have probably been heard in the next parallel universe over and everybody was glaring at you, their previous curiosity having changed into acrid disgust. You found the tap and scrubbed blood out from underneath your fingernails, until your skin burned pink, and even then you felt dirty.

As you walked over to your hammock, Minho’s sleeping blankets were entirely moved. You lay alone, not even comforted by the company of rest.

\---

The next morning, you were already awake, having only had a few fitful hours of exhaustion-induced sleep. Niel’s accepting grimace had been in all of them. You rubbed your eyes to find that a few others had beaten you to it, sitting in front of the door that Niel had been at the night previous. You saw Thomas and Newt, and couldn’t find the dark head of Minho, giving you the confidence to make your way over.

They looked up and acknowledged you with silent nods as you sat quietly between the two. The grass tickled your skin and you propped your chin on a knee.

“When do they open?” you asked hoarsely, still groggy.

“0700. One minute left.”

When the doors found their life again, it was just as loud as the night previous. You cringed at the sound and had to resist putting your hands over your ears. They slid open painfully slow and Thomas stood immediately, trying to peer out the crack just as it appeared.

“Newt?” he said suddenly, tumbling over himself to get out. You hesitated at the door and Newt followed after Thomas.

“What is it?”

“It’s Niel… I think.”

There was a pile of vines on the ground, built up like a miniature mountain. Thomas and Newt cleared them away hastily, revealing the boy like the treasure under an X. It was your first time seeing him up close. The boy had South Asian features, a big nose, and jet black hair. It contrasted against his skin, completely blanched white, dirt and moss covering his forehead to make him look like a freshly exhumed corpse. You shivered and stepped forwards slowly, staring up at the sky through the maze. There was little to no light, and you shuffled to Newt and Thomas quickly. 

“Is he dead?” you asked in a hushed voice, as if speaking loudly would disturb some unknown being. Newt was prodding Niel’s neck, a frown on his face.

“I think—”

As if to eagerly prove Newt wrong, Niel took in a huge gasp of air, sitting stock straight and grasping Newt’s wrist. The blond boy wracked a yelp out and tried to get back, but Niel’s grip looked to be extremely strong, holding Newt tight. Green veins bulged out of Niel’s brown skin. 

“Help me!” Niel wheezed out, before collapsing back to the ground. He jerked intermittently, spasming violently. “Help… Help…” 

The only way you knew that he was alive between breaths was when tendons in his neck bulged out. 

“I guess he’s not dead!” you observed, after a moment of stunned silence had passed.

\---

“We gave him the serum,” Clint explained to Newt while wiping sweat off his brow, “but it might be too late. We’re going to have to watch him carefully. The Changing is going to be really bad.”

“How bad?” Newt asked grimly.

“Uh… _bad_? Worse than Pas’ for sure.”

Newt groaned slightly and ran a hand through his hair. He nodded once, the purple punches of dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced in the Homestead’s lacking lighting. “Thanks, Clint. Keep eyes on him.”

“Will do, man.”

You shifted your weight as Newt sat down heavily. You followed after tentatively, sliding down the wall.

“What’s The Changing?” you asked timidly. Thankfully, Newt didn’t seem to be angry with you, and merely sighed tiredly.

“When Grievers sting you, you’re not the same. They’ve got some sorta poison… you go mad. Pas—he was the last guy who got stung—he was one of the worst. He screamed all day about how we were all rats, and then he…” Newt gently laid a large hand on his throat, staring off into the past. “He ripped his throat out as he screamed. The bloke died gurgling. Was a right mess to watch. Killed himself in front of one of our youngest… the kid was only twelve, you know? And Pas… Pas was only fourteen.”

You cringed at the sheer imagination, not wanting to know what it felt like to have the actual memory. “And Clint said that this’d be _worse_?”

He gave you a sorrowful look. “We’ve got to hope for the best.”

\---

Working was hard. You were being pushed around, but you were a commodity that nobody wanted, and only Frypan was willing to let you work with him. You sliced the onions, the thing nobody else wanted to do, the prickling in your eyes having an excuse at last. Was it really your fault? Could you have prevented this?

Niel’s laboured screeching could be heard from any corner of the Glade, and you couldn’t get away. The kitchen was awkwardly silent—save for Niel’s discordant groans—as people tried to avoid you. At one point, as you were stirring the stew, it became quiet. You hadn’t noticed at first until you realized that something was missing. You looked up and noticed the others looking around, too.

“Is it done yet?” you asked slowly, fully aware that nobody might answer. 

“I don’t think so,” one replied carefully, his eyes darting around suspiciously as he froze, as if moving would break the calm silence. He swallowed thickly. “The Changing usually isn’t this short. Maybe he…?”

You knew what he was getting at and couldn’t help a depressed sigh, lowering your gaze.

But only a few minutes later, a boy you didn’t recognize burst in, his ivory skin glistening with a clammy pallor of sweat. He looked around wildly.

“What is it?” Frypan asked bewilderedly.

“Have you seen ‘im?” the boy replied between pants. You blinked.

“Who?”

“Niel!”

“Isn’t he in the Home—”

“Nah, he’s gone; he jumped out the window and we can’t find a body.”

Giving a last look around the kitchen for his ghost, the boy left, his footsteps thundering away. Frypan whistled lowly.

“This some deep klunk.”

\---

Newt called everybody to meet in front of the Homestead to count heads. Everybody was there, even Minho, who was surprisingly quiet as he leant hard on Thomas. The only one missing was Niel.

“Where could he have gone?” Thomas asked between breaths, having returned from the maze. Sweat darkened his hair, his intelligent eyes serious. “There was nothing new out in my section. The Beetle Blades were normal again. No Grievers. It was as if nothing ever happened yesterday.”

“It’s like somebody’s toying with us,” Minho muttered, saying something that wasn’t blame directed to you for once. “I feel like we’re being played… like somebody’s trying to see how we’d react to bad things. It seems too clean. Too coincidental…” His gaze moved to you and you shied away.

“Maybe,” Newt murmured, his blue eyes also shifting to yours. It only lasted for half a second, but you caught his look all the same. The shame returned to you and you pressed your lips together. You were used to it from Minho. Somehow, getting it from Newt made you really feel as if it were your fault.

“Maybe he went back to those vines. Where we found him.” You spoke up suddenly, after the silence spread on too thin. Thomas looked at you, startled.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but we haven’t looked there yet, right?”

“You’re gonna trust _her_?” Minho asked rudely, jerking a thumb towards you. “Seriously?”

“Minho, she didn’t do anything wrong. Get over it. She saved your shuckin’ ass.” Newt pushed past Minho uncharacteristically aggressively, the other boy almost falling over on his one leg. Thomas put an arm around Minho and helped him limp after Newt, who was storming towards the West entrance, looking like an angry pirate hobbling along. You followed a distance after, and the rest of the boys another distance after that.

Newt checked his watch at least four times before stepping outside tentatively. The pile of vines was as everybody had left it earlier, with chunks sprawled this way and that from Thomas and Newt’s attempt to clear it off. Newt leant down carefully and poked around with a long stick.

“Do you see him?” Thomas asked. Newt sighed and stood up, limping back to safety before answering with a shake of the head. Your heart sank.

“It was a good guess, but a long shot. I guess we just… lost him.” Newt accompanied the statement with a shrug, which didn’t make it any much better. You couldn’t just dismiss the fact that Niel had vanished into thin air with an ‘ah, shucks!’.

“Wait…”

“What the—Thomas!”

You winced as Minho’s ass hit the ground hard. Thomas had dropped him and jogged out into the maze, looking incredibly focused on something.

“Tommy, wait! Doors close in just a few—!”

“Niel!” Thomas yelled, ignoring Newt. Minho picked himself off the ground and bunny hopped forwards, suddenly grabbing onto your shoulder to steady himself. The touch was abrupt and you jumped, but you realized he was paying too much attention to Thomas to care that it was you. You tried your best to stay sturdy for him as Thomas disappeared out of sight.

“Niel! Niel? Niel, are you there?!”

“Thomas!” Newt yelled desperately with newfound frustration. “The doors!”

“Niel—Niel!?”

His tone changed from inside the maze, to one of recognition. Newt and Minho shared a look. It wasn’t long before Thomas returned to view, dragging a body behind him. It was an unconscious Niel, totally limp. You let out a big breath of relief you hadn’t known you’d been holding and Minho’s grip tightened on your shoulder.

“Is he alive?” Newt asked urgently, coming up to Thomas to help lay the still boy on the ground. You brought Minho closer and the group of four crouched around him, peering into his face. Thomas was the one to check for a pulse, grimacing, obviously afraid that Niel would suddenly wake up like he had last time. 

“He’s alive,” Thomas answered, letting another wave of relief pass over you. “I feel a pulse. It’s faint, but he’s alive.”

“Good god,” Newt muttered. “The hell was he doing back out in the maze…?”

“Hey, you.”

You turned, startled, as Minho prodded you harshly in the arm. He snapped his fingers. “I left my crutches in the Homestead. Go get them.”

“Fine,” you muttered, resentful of the commanding tone but also feeling that you owed something to him. You got up and brushed off your pants. You had only managed to take one step away from the sleeping boy when he erupted in a discordant array of screams, writhing on the ground.

“We’re all going to die!” he wailed, the first coherent thing coming out of him. His back snapped into a painfully sharp arch. He scrambled up to his feet wildly, knocking Newt over into the sand in his confusion. He walked in circles, staggering like a dying dog. His eyes met yours briefly an you fought the urge to vomit. “We’re all going to die! WICKED—F-flare— _God, I can’t take it!_ ”

“Niel, calm down—!”

Niel brandished something that gleamed in the fast darkening light. It took you a while to see it, but you recognized it. You’d been using it all day. It was a kitchen knife.

“You!” Niel barked, his eyes crossing as he entered a delirious craze. He swung the knife wildly. “You, you, you, you, you, you… you put me in here, you killed my ma—!”

“Niel, stop it, you slinthead!”

It happened incredibly quickly. Niel looked down at the boys, still left kneeling on the ground, and drew his arm back almost gracefully. Somehow, you’d seen this form before—when people threw darts at a board. Who had you seen do this? Where? You didn’t know, and it wasn’t important. Niel’s knife was about to make a bullseye with somebody’s face if you didn’t do something. Your body moved before you could say or think anything, and you threw yourself at…

**PAGE 6: Minho.  
PAGE 7: Thomas.  
PAGE 8: Newt.**


	6. 6

__

_Minho._

“Look out!” you shrieked as you physically launched yourself like a dumb rocket. You probably could’ve said something cooler, but the stress of the moment didn’t leave you with any time to draft up a heroic one-liner. The moron was still shouting at Niel in an attempt to talk him down, and your forehead smashed into his with the sheer power of inertia as you failed to brace yourself for impact. Your vision was spinning, but you still heard the dull _thunk_ of the blade shearing into the Earth.

“Get him back! Get him down, for god’s sake! What the bloody hell are you slintheads waiting for?!” Newt yelled. There was the sound of boys scuffling, but your hearing was fluctuating strangely, and things sounded far away. There was a distant high-pitched ringing noise. You struggled to open your eyes, only able to do so after concentrating hard on the simple task. Below you, Minho’s hands dug into your gut painfully, your landing on him far from graceful or convenient. You opened your eyes slowly, fighting your heavy eyelids. His brown eyes held flecks of amber and darker brown, like the iridescent scale of a rattlesnake. He had gold freckles dotting his whole face, a cluster of them making a nebula on his right cheek. He stared up at you with wide eyes marred with surprise as you struggled to recollect your thoughts in a shaken up brain.

“What are you doing?!” he hissed, his voice suddenly very loud when you were this close. His breath was hot on your skin. “Get off of me, already!”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. You tried to sit yourself up, but found yourself to be held down by something. You tugged weakly, but your arm was still caught, and your vision was still foggy from impact. You rubbed an eye with your free hand. “Hey Minho, let go of me…”

“What are you talking ab…”

He trailed off and you realized that something had to be really wrong if _Minho_ shut up. You pried your eyes open and saw him reaching past you, his chest coming forwards to touch yours. Your question caught in your throat as your face suddenly nestled up right into the crook of his sweaty neck, a distantly familiar smell coming off of him as your face pressed into his shirt. Like how the smell of fake vanilla could take you all the way back, something tugged on the vestiges of your lost memories, begging you to remember. But your mind was scattered, and unable to process this sudden closeness, your thoughts wandered to the feeling of a cold draft on your arm. Looking down, you realized why only one of your arms felt so strange, and saw the patches of blood coming through the fabric like misshapen rose petals. Niel’s knife had pinned you down. 

Minho worked it out of the ground with an animalistic grunt. Newt had lent you an oversized long sleeved shirt to wear as an overcoat the day previous, and the knife had slid right through the thin cotton like tissue paper. It tacked you into the ground like a post-it note. Seeing your blood didn’t bother you, but rather, the idea of ruining your new shirt upset you more.

“You’re good, right? It’s just a graze?”

You realized that Minho was addressing you after starting, not having realized at first because of his uncharacteristically concerned tone. You rolled up your now freed sleeve gingerly, still propped up on top of him, and examined the cut. It wasn’t anything like his had been yesterday. It was merely a shallow graze on the top of your forearm, and it could’ve been much worse. You nodded.

“I’m fine… oh, I’m sorry. Wait, let me—” You tried to roll yourself off of him before the boy scowled, grasping your uninjured arm with a firm but secure touch. You froze, tensing. 

“Don’t move, you shuckin’ idiot. Just wait a minute.” He looked behind you and his tone grew more severe. “Newt, she’s injured.”

“What?”

“Call Clint over, would you?” Minho sighed heavily, and you felt guilty for using him as your makeshift chair. He was still holding you, as if to prop you up like a human stool, but you were a bit glad. Even though the cut wasn’t that deep, you blamed the blood loss for making you dizzy, and you leant on him as lightly as you could manage. His gilded eyes turned back to you and he was grimacing.

“You’re a shuckin’ idiot,” he began loudly, startling you out of your mindless daze. As he yelled, he began to tear off the rest of your sleeve, ignoring your bewildered stare as he balled up the fabric in one hand. He began to press the makeshift bandage to your arm, mopping up the blood that had pooled as he ranted, giving you no time between breaths to interject. “You know that? A moron. You’re a freakin’ stupid girl! I can’t _believe_ how dumb you are.” He scowled again before his brow furrowed somewhat. You felt his fingers twitch on your wrist. “But how’d you know he was going to throw it at me and not Thomas or Newt?”

“Maybe because _I_ would’ve thrown it at you if I were Niel,” you shot sourly, derisive wit the only thing left in your concussed brain. You winced after you realized what you’d said. “Sorry, I—”

“Stop apologizing to me,” he snapped, ignoring the passing insult. He inhaled deeply. His grip tightened around your wrist and his eyes rose to meet yours. “…you saved my life. Again, I guess.”

Your eyebrows arched slightly as you struggled to sort out his mumbled afterthought. “‘Again’?”

He reddened, to the point where you hurriedly asked if he were okay.

“What are you, stupid? You’re the one with the giant cut on your arm!” His gaze slipped behind you and you heard a bag drop, seeing Clint kneel beside you in your peripheral. For some reason, you kept your eyes trained forwards on Minho, who was suddenly holding your other hand even after he dropped the sleeve. It was somewhat awkward to have his rough, sweaty fingers entwined around yours as Clint worked on you, and you finally were unable to keep your curiosity to yourself.

“I don’t have a cut on that one,” you pointed out quietly as Clint bandaged you up. Minho was still scowling, and somehow, the scowl deepened.

“You’re heavy. I’m trying to keep you off my junk.”

“…okay then. I don’t need to lean on you anymore though. I can get off if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I told you already, you saved my life, okay? What else do you want from me?!” he snarled. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“You didn’t say thank you,” you mused aloud. “I even took a knife for you.”

“You’re a right klunk eater,” he growled, his fingers gripping yours to the point where it almost hurt. His face was still mottled with pink and he looked away, grumbling. “I'm not saying anything to you.”

“Ah,” you whined melodramatically, your fingers twitching in his as you faked a big pout. “My arm really hurts… if only I’d just saved Thomas, instead—!”

“Excuse me? Tommy wasn’t even aimed at!” He noticed your sly smirk that you tried to hide and his expression faltered into a moodier one. You started to get how his mind ticked—there didn’t seem to be that much hardware in his thick skull, after all—and found his butthurt reactions to be quite amusing. “God, you…”

“You’re okay?” Clint abruptly asked, awkwardly, drawing both of yours’ attention. It didn’t even hurt as much as a stubbed toe would. You nodded wearily, taking your arm back and patting the bandages. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Great!” Minho said forcefully, toppling you into the dirt without warning. You yelped, which was a mistake, as you met with a hearty mouthful of sand. He struggled to his feet, what with one still out of commission, and had the nerve to wait for you to get up just so that he could use you as his shoulder rest. You had the power to push him back onto the ground, but decided not to, tolerating his weight with a frown. You spat a glob of sand onto him as Newt limped over, worry etched in his too-old face. Thomas wasn’t far behind.

“You two good?” he asked urgently.

“We’re fine.”

You hadn’t expected Minho to answer for you, and the ‘yeah’ caught in your throat. You looked to Minho curiously, but he was dutifully ignoring you, staring down at the twitching Niel. Your gaze followed slowly. Two of the bigger Gladers were holding Niel down as the boy panted and wheezed, crying silently, the fury from before completely lost. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, and he muttered in a foreign language— _mataji_ —and for some reason, you thought _mother_. Mother... you didn’t have a memory to associate with the word, but it hurt you anyways. Your heart panged with pitiful guilt as you looked down at him.

“Is _he_ okay?” you asked, holding your bandaged arm to your chest protectively.

“God no,” Newt replied, running hands through his hair fretfully. He looked down at Niel sadly, who was still crying softly, before turning his eyes to you. “You know what this means.”

“Dammit,” Minho swore abruptly, fingers tightening on your shoulder. Thomas shifted uncomfortably, and you looked to all of them. Nobody seemed to be in the mood to talk. Minho was closest, and despite his personality, you leant your head to him and whispered.

“What’s he talking about? What does this mean?”

Minho blinked, his weight on your shoulder lightening slightly. He had a grim frown slashed across his face.

“He attacked one of us,” he said matter-of-factly. “That means we’ve got to banish him.”

“Banish…?”

“Yeah. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

You looked down at Niel, still whimpering and sobbing, and couldn’t help but feel that the only thing grounding you to reality was Minho’s hand on your shoulder.

_Continue with the story on page 9._


	7. 7

__

_Thomas._

“Thomas!”

Your arms wrapped around him like you were going in for a hug. For a split second, it was just that—a warm and comforting hug. 

Then came the actual impact. 

He was much heavier and taller than you, but the force of your jump got him to roll, enough so that you went over-and-under a few times before coming to a hard stop. You were pressed underneath him, breathing hard, your eyes wide with wild adrenaline.

“Are you okay?” you gasped, struggling to find air as his weight pressed on your lungs. He stared down at you, shocked, before sitting straight up. Dirt from his hair rained down on you and you flinched, brushing the sand out of your eyes.

“I’m fine… thanks. You saved me.” He seemed to be realizing this too slowly and suddenly stuck a hand out. You squinted at it, dust still caught in your eyes. He grabbed your hand himself, hauling you up to a sitting position. He got off of you, restoring the feeling to your legs, but his hand was still wrapped around yours. He was looking at you worriedly, but his eyes weren’t trained on your face. Your eyes followed his, confused, and you realized that he was looking at a gigantic bloodstain on your sleeve. Newt had lent you a spare long-sleeved button-up to use, and you frowned, having liked it.

“That was new,” you complained distantly. Thomas’ brow furrowed immediately.

“You’re hurt. Here, take it off—”

“Whoa, what?!”

He was already stripping you down before you could protest, and you were really glad that you were still wearing your t-shirt underneath. You stared helplessly as he took your bare arm in both of his hands, turning it over to examine the injury. You shivered as his thumbs grazed your skin. The wound was a superficial cut, at most, a grazing blow as you’d flailed your limbs around in an attempt to knock him out of harm’s way.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered suddenly, looking back up at you with such sorrowful eyes that you thought you were looking down into a bottomless pit. His dark eyelashes fluttered as he glanced back down to your arm. “This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me…”

“Are you kidding me? It wasn’t your fault. We’re both okay, see? This is a good thing.” You even laughed nervously, afraid of the sudden moodiness coming across the previously calm and positive boy.

“You’re not okay!” he snapped almost peevishly, making you flinch. His tone quieted, his gaze lowered, and that seemed much more dangerous than when he yelled. “It’s my fault that you got hurt.”

“Thomas…?”

“Hey, you two all right there?!”

You’d been so focused on Thomas that you completely forgot about Niel and the others. Your head snapped to attention. Newt limped over urgently, his eyes landing on your arm that Thomas was still holding. He let out a deep, disappointed sigh, probably having hoped that the both of you had been unscathed. Newt turned back and yelled for a med-jack, giving you a moment to lean forwards and plead with Thomas,

“This wasn’t your fault. Really. I’m fine.”

The boy merely chewed on his lip, not meeting your eyes. Clint up and dragged you away to a tree stump to bandage up your arm, despite your protests that it was fine. You winced as he dabbed an antiseptic on the scrape roughly, the alcohol stinging your raw flesh. You couldn’t help but keep shooting glances over to Thomas, hoping that he’d come over, but his back was turned to you as he talked with Minho and Newt. You had the feeling that he was ignoring you. That hurt even more than the stupid cut.

“Done,” Clint announced, taping down the bandage. You rolled your wrist, happy with your range of motion, and quickly jogged back to the group. You came within earshot of Newt, who was explaining something in a grave tone that immediately made you feel cold despite the warm air.

“…not sure why he was in the maze.”

“Maybe he was looking for something?” Minho suggested, having found the crutches he’d asked you to get earlier. He leant on them heavily, rubbing his cropped hair agitatedly with a free hand. “No idea what, though.”

“Pas said something similar after his Changing,” Newt mused aloud, chewing a thumbnail. “Something about rats.”

“But what does this mean for Niel?”

Hearing Thomas’ voice so forceful and aggressive made your heart skip a beat. He’d been so gentle with you the first day, his smile radiant. This wasn’t the same person. He was glowering, his voice shaking with pent-up anger. Your gaze drifted down to the hand that was clenched into a painful looking fist. 

“He almost killed me. He almost killed her, too—so what does this mean for him?”

“Thomas, you’re overreacting—”

“How?” Thomas shouted, rounding on Minho. People muttered with surprise as they backed up from him, nervous apprehension breaking out like a disease over the audience. “He threw a knife at me, didn’t he? He even got her. _Hurt_ her. Are you _defending_ him?”

“Minho’s right,” Newt cut in quickly, his tone level with restrained calm. His blue eyes darted from Minho, who stood silently, to Thomas. Newt raised his hands defensively. “You’re not being rational. Back down, Tommy.”

You shrank behind a boy as Thomas scowled, finally letting go of Minho’s shirt collar. The other boy nearly fell, stumbling backwards with the force. Despite having wanted nothing more than to have him talk to you before, now, you wanted to run away from him. Thomas had a tangibly acrid aura of hatred around him, and you were beginning to feel very afraid of the boy with such a radiant smile. 

“Niel.”

You heard Minho’s hushed tone and gathered the courage to peer back onto the scene. Minho was bent over Niel, who you only just now saw. The large boys that were guarding him shuffled aside to let you see his face. You were shocked. The boy had almost killed somebody, and now, he was a mess, sobbing and blubbering incoherently in a language you did not understand. He looked like a child. Small. Innocent.

“Mataji… mataji…”

You swallowed thickly, your stomach turning at the sight. His skin was still as pale as when you’d first found him, but now it was blotchy with bulging veins of a deep sea green. They spiderwebbed his face, which was slick with snot and tears as he sobbed.

“Mataji…”

“Niel,” Minho murmured urgently. “C’mon, kid. What happened to you? Tell us.”

“Mataji…”

“Niel?” Newt picked up, after Minho shook his head with defeat. Newt crouched down, putting a hand onto the ground to steady himself as he looked Niel in the eye. “Niel. You’re probably scared, and I get that. You’re a good kid. Everybody gets jacked after the changing… so just tell us anything you can remember.”

“Mataji… madad…”

“Damn it Niel, spit it out! What the hell were you going on about!? Why did you throw the knife at me?!”

You flinched as you heard Thomas yell, breaking the calm Minho and Newt had tried to establish. There was the sound of struggling and you reopened your eyes to see Newt struggling to hold back Thomas, who was trying to get at Niel. Niel cringed away into the arms of one of his guards, curling into a ball as he continued to cry, muttering in the foreign language. He looked confused as to whom he had to protect—people from the tiny shivering boy, or the screaming Thomas.

“Mataji…!” Niel whimpered. Your heart ached.

“ _Niel_!” Thomas roared, but Newt yelled over him.

“Dammit, Tommy, settle down! Don’t make me throw you in the Slammer! _Settle down_!”

“You _saw_ him Newt,” Thomas heaved, but complied, standing in his spot and glaring at Niel instead. He seemed to have grown in size tenfold, glowering over Newt. “He was going to kill me. He even hurt—”

“You’re really hung up on this girl, but she’s handling it a hell of a lot better than you are, slinthead.” Minho interrupted Thomas almost boredly and suddenly began to look around, spying you easily even as you cowered behind one of the fatter boys you didn’t know the name of. He pointed. “See? Look over there. Alive and kicking. So cool it, Thomas.”

Thomas seemed to notice you for the first time and you pressed your lips together, looking down shamefully as boys skittered away from you, a parting red sea. Your arm hadn’t hurt that much at the time, but now that the shock was wearing off, it throbbed dully. You didn’t dare look up. His gaze seemed to burn into you. 

“We can’t just let him off the hook,” Newt muttered softly. “I get that, Thomas. So calm down, all right?”

“…yeah.”

Thomas’ voice was strained, but by the time you found the courage to look up, he’d already turned away from you. Thomas’ back looked broad from where you stood, but slumped, as if he’d just been shouldering a lot of weight. You couldn’t help remembering the feeling of warmth around you from when you’d held him, but you kept shivering. 

“So, what?” Minho asked, tapping his crutch on the dirt near Niel’s face. The boy didn’t even respond, hugging his knees, sobbing in ugly hiccups. “Banishment?”

Despite Minho’s easygoing tone, the Glade suddenly quieted, as if a magical breeze had come through to silence every single boy. You looked around, unsure of what was happening. Despite not knowing for sure, you had a pretty good guess of what they were going to do if they called it ‘Banishment’. But—banished to where?

You felt a tickling on the back of your neck and looked out towards the maze, unaware of Thomas’ eyes on you.

_Continue with the story on page 9._


	8. 8

__

_Newt._

You had no time to say anything. Your teeth were ground together with concentration as you flung your body at Newt. There was probably a better way to do this, but if you’d ever been trained in the art of tackling people, it had completely gone over your head. You managed to lift him off the ground with the force of your jump, sliding him a few feet on the wet grass. His arms shot around the small of your back to support you as your hands landed on either side of his, propping you up as you stared down at him. Your nose has just barely grazed his before you caught yourself. For a second, he was so still that you’d thought he’d died anyways, but the sudden explosion of colour in his pale face made you think twice.

“Y-you…”

You were silent as you stared down into his eyes.

“Oi, Newt! You good?!”

There was an intense eruption of yelling behind you, and you guessed that people were probably trying to restrain Niel. You flinched, still dazed, and held up your right arm, which felt oddly cold. The shirt that you’d borrowed was slashed open, exposing your arm. There was a shallow but long cut on the edge of it, the sharp knife having grazed you as you’d jumped at Newt.

“I’m fine!” he called back, his eyes still focused on you. His words shifted strands of your hair. His eyes looked especially vivid on his red face, contrasting against his fair toned hair. “Are _you_?”

“Me? Oh, um… he got me a bit, but it’s nothing.” You realized you were still sitting on him and felt warmth rush to your own neck. “Sorry, let me…” You tried to get off of him, but his arms were still locked around your thighs. You froze awkwardly, ass in the air, your hair probably suffocating him as it dangled in his face. He seemed to realize his mistake and let you go abruptly, and you rolled off of him jerkily. All in all, things could have gone much better, but the both of you sat in silence like idiots.

“Your arm,” he said suddenly, his eyes catching on you cradling it. You blinked and looked down at it, almost having forgotten after trying to drown out your mental screaming.

“It’s nothing,” you said hastily. “A scratch. I’ll just need a bandage or something.”

“Right. Yeah. Right… thanks.” His brow furrowed as he confused himself, but then he nodded, looking at you with newfound confidence after his word jumble. “ _Thank_ you. How did you know he was aiming for me?”

“I… I didn’t,” you admitted. “My body just kind of went off on its own. Lucky guess?”

“Still, you’re damn lucky then. If you hadn’t pushed me out of the way…” His voice trailed off, but the both of you knew what he was talking about. You smiled shyly.

“Hey. The Glade couldn’t do without you, could they?”

“Come off it,” he muttered humbly, shaking his head. He pointed at your arm. “More importantly, you need that checked out. Where’s Clint…?” He flagged down the med-jack, and you saw Newt from the side. Staring at him that closely, you realized… the sadness that always seemed to be around him was a lot darker than you thought. It was strikingly distant, a totally irrelevant thought, but it was present. You could see it in the fibres of his irises. You could see it hanging over his head. Newt had a burden that he wasn’t sharing with anybody.

“Clint’s busy with Niel,” a boy panted, running up to Newt. Your eyes snapped away from the boy as the boy dug around in a plastic bag. He passed Newt a roll of white gauze and a pad of what looked like antiseptic. “He said to give you this.”

“Fine,” Newt muttered, irritated, before turning to you. He looked apologetic and even embarrassed. “Can you hold your arm out?”

You winced as he patted the wound with the damp cloth, sucking in a breath and a swear. The wet blood and cold towel made you shiver despite the windless air. He mumbled another apology, and his large hands were surprisingly gentle and deliberate as he wrapped the gauze around your forearm. He bent forwards to secure it, his hair grazing your nose, and you swallowed thickly.

“You’re good at this!” you brought up suddenly to avoid the awkward train of thought you were taking. 

“Me?” he asked, seeming surprised. A wan, bitter smile flitted across his face. “Well, I used to be a runner, but then I got pretty good at bandaging myself up.”

“You used to be a runner?” you asked, your eyes inadvertently turning to his leg. The shin wasn’t in the right alignment, and even you could tell that the ankle was misshapen. How could he run if he could barely walk? He seemed to know what you were thinking and snorted with amusement.

“Yeah. Used to… looks like ‘used to’ is a big concept in my life.” His voice seemed far away, left behind in past memories, but they were weighed down with pain.

You didn’t think it’d be right to say anything further. Newt taped down the gauze with a strip of scotch tape, which you found to be quite rudimentary, but it worked. He looked up at you, the feeling of his touch lingering on your skin as ghostly tingles.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Newt.”

He shook his head. “I should be the one thanking you, still. I owe you.”

“Huh, you do? Maybe you can get me out of work for a couple of days.”

His eyes flashed with surprise and suddenly he was grinning, looking down as he laughed. His light eyelashes fluttered with humour.

“Thought you didn’t want me to go soft on you ‘cause you were a bloody girl.”

“I saved your life!” you protested jokingly, “doesn’t that warrant me a few days off?”

“Fine, fine. Come on. Let’s see what’s up with Niel.”

The good mood died quickly when he hauled himself to his feet, reaching down. His expression was grim. You took his hand and he helped you up, his grip strong. You and he made your way over to the group surrounding Niel, the other boys parting for you as they whispered.

“What’s up, Minho?” Newt asked, once people had resettled. “You’re the Keeper. What’re your thoughts?”

“Well, the kid won’t shuckin’ _say anything_ … for starters.” Minho was sat on the ground by Niel. You cringed when you saw the boy. His black hair looked wet with grease and sweat, and his face was slick with snot and tears—but the worst was his skin, bulging with inhumanly green veins. You thought you could see them pulse. Two Gladers held him down on either side, but he wasn’t resisting. His only movement came from his chest bobbing as he sobbed.

“Mataji,” he wailed intermittently. “Mataji…” 

Minho sighed, almost with fatherly disappointment as he shook his head. He struggled to his feet, having found his crutches, and hobbled over to where you and Newt stood. Minho glanced at the bandage on your arm and shrugged.

“We’re lucky, I guess.”

“So you admit that she’s not as useless as you keep saying?” Newt challenged suddenly, crossing his arms, surprising you and Minho both. Minho and you even shared a look, something like _do you know what he’s on about?_ Newt seemed to be expecting an answer and Minho shifted uncomfortably, before giving you another fleeting look. He stared down at your shoes.

“…sorry. Thanks for saving Newt.”

“Oh. No problem...?” You were still confused before remembering how Minho had treated you just a few hours previous. It had stung then, but you weren’t so offended that you’d become depressed or anything. Wondrously, you looked to Newt, who nodded approvingly. 

“She’s saved two lives now. What can you say for yourself, Minho?”

Minho scowled, his ears glowing red. “All right, man. Don’t make me wish you _had_ got hit.”

“But what’s going to happen now?” Thomas asked, jogging over to join the group, standing at your other side. “I mean, it’s good that nobody got _too_ hurt, but he still tried to kill you.”

“That’s not forgivable here,” Newt agreed, suddenly sounding sad despite the ominous words. He was looking at Niel, who seemed to show no care for the world or his own life anymore. The knife-wielding maniac was gone. Left in his place was a shell of a boy, crying softly. Newt’s face had a shadow come across it. “How old is he again? Thirteen? Fourteen?”

“Why’s that even matter?” Minho asked, confused. Newt shook his head.

“Too young. I swear, they just keep getting younger… God!”

Suddenly Newt lashed out by turning and punching a tree, the great oak rattling from the force of the impact. You flinched as he did, opening your eyes to see him shaking out bloody knuckles.

“Newt, you okay?” Thomas asked nervously, taking a step forwards. Newt waved him off, scowling.

“It’s not right… but we’ve got to do it. We’ll have to banish him.”

A hush grew over the Glade. Newt was grinding his teeth together and you realized that he might go and punch the poor tree again, so you quickly grabbed his wrist. He looked at you, startled, and you merely frowned.

“What do you mean by ‘banish him’?” you asked, slowly letting go of him. He seemed to deflate as you did and sighed, clenching and unclenching his hand.

“Means… well, means we found him for nothing,” Newt muttered darkly. “Because we’re going to leave him outside for dead. Dammit. They keep getting younger…”

Even though you didn’t think he was going to hurt himself anymore, you reached out slowly and retook his hand. He stared at you openly but you kept your gaze to the ground, relying on touch to make sure he was still there. After a while, his fingers twitched and he gripped your hand. 

There was silence across the Glade, save for the sounds of Niel’s laboured sobs.

_Continue with the story on page 9._


	9. 9

“That’s all touchy-feely _great_ and all, but can we focus on the _real_ problem here?”

You jumped at the loud voice, which was somewhat familiar, but you had no name to match with it. It was irritating to listen to and you pulled your injured arm closer to yourself, feeling your hair start to stand on end. A boy stepped forwards leisurely and you suddenly recognized him, your eyes catching on his deformed potato of a nose. He was one of the Keepers who had been present at the Gathering on your first night.

“What’re you talking about, you shank?” Minho grumbled. He sounded extremely annoyed, as if this wasn’t Gally’s first antic. Gally’s eyes twitched with discontent but he continued obligingly, prodding a finger in your direction. It had so much vigour behind the motion that you actually stepped back.

“I’m talking about _her_. None of this wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t shown her shucking face up from the Box that night.”

“Excuse me?” Thomas asked, jumping to your defense quickly. “How is this her fault?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Even when _you_ were the Greenbean, things were still normal. Day she comes up, the Box is late. Day two she’s here, Beetle Blades are going nuts and Minho goes down.”

“Keep my name out of your fat mouth,” Minho warned, but Gally kept going, fuelled by the lack of protest from any of the other eerily silent onlookers.

“Day _three_? Niel goes through the Changing. Look, I’ve been there, and like _hell_ was Niel’s normal. It doesn’t take a couple of hours; it takes days. Everything’s different now. Why? The only thing that’s different from us. The _girl_.”

You began looking around halfway through his speech, gauging people’s reactions. Boys turned to their friends and those friends turned to their friends. The whispering kept growing in volume until you could actually hear them:

_“He’s right. Everything changed since she came.”_

_“What does this mean? Are things going to get worse?”_

_“It has to be because of her, right?”_

You grimaced, deciding that keeping your mouth shut for now was your best (and only) real option. 

“What changed? I thought you hated _me_ ,” Thomas continued, even going so far as to step in front of you, arm outstretched. Gally laughed a scratchy, high-pitched laugh.

“Hey, I still do, slinthead! But I’m just here to point out the facts. What kind of knife did Niel have again? A kitchen knife, right?” He craned his skinny neck to look past Thomas, his eyes meeting yours darkly. You flinched. “And where was the chick working all day?”

“Slim it, Gally. It’s not like she _gave_ Niel the knife and told him to chuck it,” Frypan said gruffly, crossing his muscular arms. “I was there. He never swung by.”

“How do you know that her taking a leak wasn’t her dropping off the knife somewhere? Did you watch her every damn second? Where else and how else could Niel have gotten it?” Gally challenged. You didn’t dare to look at Frypan, not wanting to incriminate yourself by looking like you were appealing for help. You just looked at the ground.

“Look!” Gally shouted gleefully, “she isn’t even defending herself!”

You almost wanted to give him a _really?_ look, but merely closed your eyes and took a deep breath instead.

“Hey, if this is because I kept saying all those things yesterday,” Minho began with uncharacteristic nervousness, “you know that I didn’t mean it, right?”

“I don’t care if you meant it or not,” Gally snapped back. “You were right in the end, weren’t you?”

“Well, she saved somebody’s life just now,” somebody from the crowd spoke up timidly. It was a pudgy brown-haired kid, who kept wringing his hands. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“She wouldn’t _have_ to save anybody’s life if she hadn’t come here, changed up the order of things, got Niel stung—”

“All right, Gally, you want to take this to a real fight?” Minho challenged all of the sudden, hobbling up to join Thomas, standing in front of you despite leaning hard on his crutches. “Because I’ve been praying for an excuse kick your ugly ass, I swear to—”

“Okay Minho, just because you’ve got a crush on anything that’s got tits—”

“Say it louder! I dare you, say that louder—!”

“Wait, Minho, let go of—”

You wanted to tell them to knock it off before they got into any trouble by associating with you, but Alby spoke up before you could manage. He’d been quiet for a while, but his authoritative voice snapped out like a whip’s ear-shattering crack. 

“Lay off it, morons!”

Everybody was quiet again. Minho let go of Gally’s collar, scowling darkly the whole time. The smaller boy stumbled away, massaging his neck and gulping down air like a startled frog.

Alby stepped forwards and forcefully shoved Thomas, who fell into Minho, who fell back even further. You were left exposed. Your eyes met with Newt’s, whose gaze kept darting from you to Alby nervously. Gally, saved from Minho’s sudden assault, was now grinning.

“Alby, you’re the leader. You tell us what you think.”

“Shut up Gally,” Alby dismissed.

“All I’m saying is that maybe she should spend a night or two in the Slam—”

“Shut _up_!” Newt roared. Gally, taken aback, choked on his words pathetically and fell silent. Alby sighed deeply and turned his deep black eyes to you, running a hand over his clean-shaven face.

“Look… I’ll be honest with you. I don’t think that this is fair.” He cracked his knuckles, and you imagined your neck snapping with each finger. “That’s what I want to believe. But Gally… he’s right. Things went downhill ever since the Box was late, Greenie.”

You pressed your lips together, unsure of what to say.

“No way!” Minho protested from the ground, “you’re really going to put her in the Slammer because _Gally_ told you to?!”

“No, I’m going to put her away because I don’t know what the hell else to do, Minho!” Alby shouted, his deep voice resounding through the Glade. He looked back at you, tendons in his jaw jumping erratically. He stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself before speaking to you again. “I’m sorry, Greenie. I really am. But this is what’s best.”

You stared back, weighing your options in your head. As you thought, Minho was still yelling, his voice sounding distant.

“I’m not going to let you chuck her in jail because _Gally_ of all freakin’ people—”

There was Newt, too: “Alby, lad, just think it through—”

And Thomas: “It’s way too circumstantial, but I—”

Why the hell should you be put into this ‘Slammer’ just for being you? Gally was spouting bull about you, things that you never did; it wasn’t your fault that Niel had gone and gotten stung, and it doubly wasn’t your fault that he decided to fling a knife at somebody. Everybody could find a different scapegoat to blame, and it didn’t have to be you because of your sex. 

Contrarily, if you just went with it, you could keep the peace. Taking a single glance at anybody’s face showed you they were terrified—and, if it really did happen to be something of your doing, whether you knew it or not, putting yourself away could be for the greater good. You knew for yourself that you weren’t the real culprit, but your presence might have changed something that you weren’t aware of, and you didn’t want to be the cause of any more problems. Somebody had almost died today. The only people you had begun to care about here—Newt, Thomas, even Minho—already knew you were innocent. If a night away could help everybody, should you do it?

“Excuse me?” you interrupted suddenly, your voice higher pitched than everybody else’s and bringing their arguing to a standstill. Minho let go of Thomas’ shirt, staring at you. Everybody was staring at you.

You stood your ground and took a deep breath.

“I’ll…”

**PAGE 10: Do nothing of the sort. Just try and put me away.  
PAGE 11: Go quietly without complaint. Gally’s probably right; the end justifies the means, and I have to keep the peace.   
PAGE 12: Go, but only because everybody seems to need me to. I’m not happy about it.**


	10. 10

_I’m not going._

“It’s not my fault,” you said, expecting yourself to stutter but delivering the line clearly. You stared at Alby pointedly, even taking a step towards him to assert yourself. “I _swear_ that I didn’t give a knife to Niel, and I swear that I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t think I should be put away just for being a girl.”

“See? That’s the way, Greenbean!” Minho cheered approvingly, turning to look at Alby. He pointed back at you with a triumphant grin. “We should just lock Gally up!”

“Minho, you’re actually retar—” Gally began acridly, before somebody interrupted.

“Can I say something?”

Everybody looked at Newt, now, who was fidgeting uncomfortably. He sighed, as if in pain, and looked up at you with sympathetic, _shameful_ eyes.

“I think we should call a vote.”

“A vote?” you repeated, your brow knitting together. You’d thought that Newt was actually one of the guys on your side. “Newt, I’m telling you, I didn’t—”

“I have to think about the group as a whole,” he interrupted, refusing to meet your gaze. “It might not be your fault. It probably isn’t. _I_ don’t think it is, but we have to test out all the possibilities. Sorry, Greenie. But don’t worry about it. Slammer ain’t that bad.”

“Fine then,” Alby agreed, much too easily for your liking. “We’ll just do a general consensus. All in favour of putting the Greenbean in the Slammer—”

“Wait!” you spluttered, “I just told you that I didn’t want to go!”

Alby ignored you, almost loudly. He counted hands, but there was no need. There was a sea of people waving at you. They had enough shame to keep their hands low, averting their gazes, but barely anybody thought that you should be spared. On your first night, the Keepers had all voted to do nothing, and now everybody believed that you should go and suck it up in a cell. Your heart broke. You… were alone.

As you looked around, your eyes caught on Minho scowling, his arms crossed tightly around himself. Despite feeling that you were totally hated, despised, and resented, you felt a bit better that you at least had Minho who thought the opposite. …probably. 

“Well, let’s put her away.” Alby sighed, not even bothering to call the ‘all those against’. You stifled frustrated tears, not wanting to look even worse than you already did in the eyes of these boys—or rather, these pigs. These people may have been justified in not trusting you, fine; but you didn’t deserve _this_.

“Wait. Let me.”

Your eyes flashed up to Minho, who swung himself over on his crutches. He still had a bad-tempered look on his face, which was probably the only thing deterring anybody from stopping him. He looked sharply at Newt.

“If that’s _okay_ with you?”

Newt sighed, obviously still feeling uncomfortable in front of you. He glanced up and gave you another pitiful, apologetic look and nodded awkwardly.

“Yeah. Make her comfortable.”

“This way,” Minho muttered to you, hobbling away. You cast a look over the Gladers, who all were too cowardly to meet your gaze. Minho snapped your attention away by shouting.

“Don’t got all night, Greenie!”

Slowly, you turned away and followed him, green grass sinking underneath your sullen footsteps.

\---

“Wow,” you murmured flatly, looking at the concrete cube. You’d expected something worse, granted, but you were still resentful that you had to be locked up at all. Minho opened the door for you and gestured inside. You looked at him, and then into the cell.

“Yeah, I know. It sucks. But you do what you have to do.”

You sighed obligingly and shuffled in. You turned just as Minho closed the door on you, disappearing behind the wood. There was the sound of metal clinking before he reappeared by the bars on the window, peering in.

“Your shirt got torn up, right?”

You looked down at yourself, remembering how the knife had shredded a hole through it.

“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Wait here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to explore your surroundings. There wasn’t much. A sad, wobbly wooden chair had been pushed into the corner, and there was nothing but dust mites to keep you company. You walked fourty-three laps around the small space before Minho returned, dramatically sighing at the window.

“Here.” He began to push things through the bars and you rushed to catch them before they fell onto the floor. You received a thin fleece blanket, three wrapped sandwiches, a piece of cake, a bottle of water, and another long sleeved button up that was made for a boy much larger than you. You struggled to carry them and placed the items onto the chair, peering back up at Minho. The Glade doors had shut while you were waiting for Minho in the Slammer, and it was getting increasingly darker.

“Thanks Minho,” you said tiredly, having accepted defeat. He snorted.

“You had better be shucking grateful. Those are my rations too.”

“What? Well, take them back then—” You began to lift a sandwich back up before he shook his head, waving you off.

“I feel bad. Gally—that moron—probably listened to my rambling the other night. So… I’m sorry about that.” He scratched his head, his eyes searching for something, as if he had forgotten what to say. You waited patiently.

“That’s fine,” you murmured, after he was silent. You shrugged with a small, spiteful smile. “I mean, if things go back to normal while I’m here, then at least we figured it out.”

He scowled. “Have a higher opinion of yourself, why don’t you? I like girls with spunk.”

“Who said I was looking to be your girl?”

He looked so offended that you laughed, having to bite down on your lip to stop. He scowled down at you before shaking his head, a small laugh of disbelief coming out of his own moutn.

“If you need anything, shout. It’s doubtful that anybody’ll come for you, but you can try.”

“What if I need to pee?”

Minho shrugged exaggeratedly, making a stupid face, and you rolled your eyes up at him. He grinned and patted the bars.

“See you soon, Greenbean.”

Having figured out that it was the slang for ‘newcomer’, you reached up, touching the bar with your own hand. You smiled wryly.

“Yeah. Night, Minho.”

After he left, you found the place to be a lot lonelier. But the pile of sandwiches made you feel better, even if it was just by a bit, and you laid the blanket out. The black sky and tufts of green grass were visible through the bars.

You didn’t think that you could get tired by lying on a block of concrete, but you were exhausted. Niel had gotten lost, come back, gotten lost, and come back again in the span of a couple of hours—it was a lot to process. From what you’d heard, he was about to be gone forever. Poor kid. Who were you to complain? You ran gentle fingers over your arm, which was aching steadily, but you bit down the pain and sighed. With nothing else to do, you might as well sleep through your sentence.

Then, a rattling woke you up. At first, you thought it might be a dream, and struggled desperately to figure out what it was, hoping that it could be a memory. But you couldn’t place it, and something creaked, making you open your eyes as a dim light greeted you. You squinted.

“Is it morning?” you asked groggily, getting up, the shirt Minho had provided falling to the ground. Your heart stuttered as a boy you had never seen stood in the doorway, twirling a keychain.

“Not yet.”

“Then… why…?”

“I’ve come to get you out.”

Invigorated, you sprang up to your feet. “Really? Oh, thank god.”

He beamed, his acne pockmarking his face like the surface of the moon. “Yeah. Only, there’s a price to pay.”

You froze from where you were crouching to pick up your shirt, and looked up to the boy slowly, your eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What price?”

“Easy. Come with me to the showers… then, keep your mouth shut, and I’ll let you go free.” The jangling of his keys suddenly sounded a lot more ominous and you looked around, your eyes catching on the chair. Could you reach it in time to hit him? But if you attacked the guy, everybody would probably be more suspicious of you, wouldn’t they? Sensing your hesitation, Moonface came forwards and grabbed your wrist, hauling you to your feet forcefully. You nearly fainted at the sudden flash of pain you got when he reopened your wound, and then flinched at the feeling of his clammy hands clasped around your hand. 

“What, don’t you want to go free?” he whispered. Your eyes flicked behind him. Your pulse raced with hot blood. His light eyebrows furrowed together. “What? What are you looking at—”

“Letting prisoners go is a big no-no.”

The boy let go of you and whirled around. “M-Minho?!” he stammered. “When did—”

Minho ignored him entirely, leaning on his crutches and glowering at you. “Hey. I told you to yell if you needed anything.

“I-I thought you said it was doubtful that anybody would come.” You rubbed your bruised wrist to your chest, unable to help the great sigh of relief. 

“Lucky that I’m in the neighbourhood, huh?” Minho smiled widely. The smile was still on his face when he addressed Moonface. 

“I think I’m in the mood to beat some creep’s ass, too. Scram.”

Understandably, Moonface was scared—as the locals say—klunk-less, dropping his keys and making a silent dash for the door. Minho tripped him with a crutch as he went by, making you wince at the sound of bone hitting and skidding across the hard rock. Determinedly, your assaulter got up and kept running, leaving Minho to sigh disappointedly.

“Wish my foot would heal. I’d chase him down in no time.”

“Thanks for that,” you muttered, pulling your shirt around yourself, suddenly feeling exposed. You looked at him curiously. “How’d you know he was here?”

“Told you. I was in the neighbourhood. Come on, let’s go.”

“Uh, where? I thought I was still supposed to be in jail.”

Minho didn’t bother to look back, his crutches making soft _thuds_ with the ground. “I mean, I wasn’t the one who broke you out. You want to stay here? Fine with me.”

After a second’s thought, you shook your head and jogged out after him. You nearly slipped on something as you went and looked down. A sleeping bag?

_I was in the neighbourhood._

You suppressed the smile and kept going after him, catching up easily. You said nothing about it, but his reddened ears told you enough. 

“You’re with me, so if Alby wants to holler at anybody, I’ll deal with it. He didn’t do anything to you?” he asked, glancing over. You shook your head, keeping quiet so that you wouldn’t wake anybody up. Minho nodded.

“Your arm. You’re bleeding through.”

You looked down and nodded. The white bandages seemed to glow in the unfiltered moonlight. “Yeah… it’s no big deal—”

“Shut up. Help me up the stairs.”

He’d led you to the Homestead. Obligingly, you let him pull on your uninjured side to help haul himself up the misshapen steps, and kept walking. You followed, looking around. You’d only been inside a few times, and still didn’t know where anything was. Minho knew where he was going and opened a door, looking back at you expectantly. It was a small room, more like a closet, but it was empty. There was a cot with an actual frame, and Minho sat on it heavily. He gestured to the corner.

“There’s bandages over there. Fix yourself up. You can do that much, can’t you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, master.”

“No way to talk to the guy who saved you,” Minho retorted. You merely smiled gently to yourself, pulling out the roll of gauze. While your back was turned, you mouthed it. _Thank you_.

Turning back, you struggled to bandage your arm with one hand, to the point where Minho scowled and snatched the gauze from you himself. His motions were a lot rougher than you would’ve liked, but he got it done. Afterwards, he tossed the ball of gauze back into the box left aside like a basketball. You wondered who you knew that played basketball… the action looked familiar, somehow.

“Go back to sleep,” Minho said while yawning widely, not bothering to cover his mouth. He plopped down on his bed, propping his bandaged foot onto a pillow. His hand waved lazily. “There’s extra stuff in the box.”

“You know what, Minho? You’re actually kind of a nice guy, sometimes.”

“Actually? _Sometimes_? Think you got it wrong, Greenie.” He scoffed, rolling over, facing the wall. You smiled openly at his back.

“Yeah. Actually.”

He didn’t say anything in response, but you heard him huff a disgruntled sigh. The smile refused to leave your face. 

The box held a spare quilt, which was much fluffier than the Slammer’s cold floor. You laid it out quietly, bunching up a bit at the top for a pillow. You lay down, taking a quick peek at Minho’s back before settling in.

“Night, Minho,” you breathed, for the second time. You closed your eyes. He said nothing, but you heard his blankets rustle quietly as he turned to look at you. You kept still, pretending to be asleep.

“…night, [Name].”

He couldn’t see the grin on your face as you buried it into your blankets, but it kept you warm.

_Continue with the story on page 13._

__


	11. 11

_You’re right. I’ll go._

“I’ll go.” You took a deep, shaky breath, your eyes suddenly latching on Newt’s expression. It was marked with despair, but in his eyes—so honestly blue that they seemed to tell you everything about him—there was relief. He nodded stiffly, and you found the strength to continue resolutely. You turned to look directly at Alby. “I’ll go to your… prison thing. It’s all right.”

“See?” Gally hooted gleefully, “she _is_ guilty—!”

“Or she’s just bloody smarter and more caring than the rest of us!” Newt snapped, in the same enormous roar that had shut everybody up before. He seemed to be seething, and Gally shrunk back, much to your pleasure. Newt sighed, shaking his head and running a hand through his fine blond hair. “She’s sacrificing herself just because the rest of you lot are afraid of her. This doesn’t mean that she’s guilty. It just means that she’s cut from a sharper block than _you_ are.” He glared at Gally, who was averting Newt’s gaze by determinedly staring up at the sky.

You hadn’t wanted there to be a big fuss. That was the point of you going ‘quietly’, wasn’t it? Still, seeing Newt stand up for you without a beat of hesitation made your heart swell with warmth. You still had a friend in these parts. You didn’t have anything to worry about if Newt was going to be there for you.

“Come on,” he said to you, shaking you out of your thoughts. His tone was gentle again. “I’ll make sure that you’re comfortable.”

He led you off. You couldn’t help but turn around and take a last look at the rest of the Gladers. Apparently, Newt’s words had gotten them all to sympathize with you, and they waved goodbye. Some whispered apologies. One said ‘thanks’.

Newt had a lot of power. It wasn’t just because of his status here; it was because everybody actually trusted him. You smiled and turned back around, chasing after Newt silently. You could definitely count yourself in as one of those people.

\---

“Here we are,” Newt sighed, delivering you to a dilapidated structure on the far end of the Glade. It wasn’t much. The Slammer was a concrete box with a padlocked door and some bars to act as a reinforced window. Newt opened the padlock with his ring of keys, talking as he did.

“We never really needed a Slammer ‘till we found people breaking the rules. Stealing food and whatnot. Not that you—er… you didn’t break any rules, of course. It’s for the greater good. Right?” He turned back around, looking so sorrowful that it was like you’d just gotten punched in the gut.

“It’ll be fine,” you reassured, finding it slightly ironic that you were the one trying to make Newt feel better for putting you into a prison. “I agreed to go.”

“And I thank you for that. The others might not realize it—they’re bloody dimwits—but I… really appreciate you agreeing to this. It’s not right. But we’ve no other option.” He shifted uncomfortably and you nodded, smiling softly. You walked past him into the Slammer.

It was colder than the Glade, the stone seeming to suck up your warmth. It was small, with nothing but a rickety chair to keep you company. You couldn’t help but shiver. You resisted the urge to sigh, not wanting Newt to feel any worse than he already did. You turned back to look at him as he leant on the door thoughtfully.

“I’ll be back,” he promised, “to bring you some blankets and food. All right?”

“Sure. Thanks, Newt.”

“Right that.” He closed the door on you afterwards and you heard the grinding of the lock. He reappeared at the window soon after, crouching down to look down at you. His face looked dark when it was backlit with the warm lamps of the Glade. You raised your eyebrows expectantly, and he merely sighed, slapping the bars with his hand.

“You’re a good person, Greenie. Really.”

“Aw, shucks. Maybe you should climb into prison and hang out with me!” you joked. You hadn’t expected him to react with a soft laugh.

“I had half a mind to. Sit tight.”

He left after that. You could watch him limp away for a bit before he disappeared from view. Your heart seemed to be stuttering in your chest. He actually thought about spending time with _you_? No. He was just being sympathetic. It was a harmless joke. 

Right?

It was ridiculous. This entire thing was ridiculous. The idea of a Glade being enclosed with a damn maze. Things called Grievers and Beetle Blades roaming around freely, ready to attack innocent young boys. The fact that you were even _here_ at all. 

And the fact that you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Ridiculous,” you said out loud sharply, as if that would change anything. But you still felt warm from the memory of his smile, and put your hands to your face to hide it, even though it was still there.

\---

Newt came back quickly, much to your hidden delight, but he apologized for not being able to stay any longer.

“There’s another Gathering,” he explained exasperatedly, “and I’ve got to be there. With Niel’s Banishing and all… I’ve got to make sure that things go smoothly. Okay?”

“Of course,” you said, swallowing your disappointment. Doing things for the ‘greater good’ seemed to be a prevalent theme in your life. You caught the things he shoved through the bars before they hit the ground, hugging the soft quilt to your chest as if it were him. You smiled up at him reassuringly. “Go.”

“Night, [Name].”

“Oh. Yeah; good night, Newt.”

You hadn’t expected him to use your name. Everybody else referred to you almost exclusively as the ‘Greenbean’, which you assumed meant something like ‘newbie’. He smiled broadly, patted the bars a last time, and left again. He often had such a grim expression that the grin looked like a break of sunshine from the clouds. You looked up at the sky, which was cloudless and infinitely dark. You wondered where you’d seen that image, of the orange sun casting rays out from big puffy clouds… no. _Whom_ had you seen it with? The reminder that you had lost all of your memories struck you with a deep melancholy.

Still, you didn’t feel so bad. The blankets smelled like him. You opened the Styrofoam box he had tossed down and your eyes widened with surprise. You couldn’t help a soft laugh. Cold strawberry flapjacks, like when he’d stumbled in on you after a long day of painful track-hoeing.

Not much time had passed, and yet, you felt like so much had happened. You took your fork and dug into the soft, sticky dessert, still trying to figure out whom you had seen that sunset with.

For some reason, only Newt’s face came to mind. It had to be impossible, since you’d never met him before now, but… with his blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you just couldn’t think of anybody else.

\---

You were startled awake by a grinding sound. In your dream, it’d been the giant doors opening to the maze. For some reason, Newt had been in that dream, his hand tight around yours as he yelled something you couldn’t quite remember. Groggily, you got up, Newt’s blanket falling from your shoulders.

“Is it morning?” you asked the blurry figure. You blinked, having assumed it was Newt, before your heart froze. It was some other boy you’d never seen before, his face pockmarked by red acne like the surface of the moon.

“It’s still night,” he whispered. You didn’t like his tone, nor the way his eyes fell on you. He licked his lips, his tongue darting out like a snake’s. His face was marred with angry red acne, like the surface of the moon. You hugged the blanket tighter around yourself, shrinking away from him as he took a step into the cell.

“Then why are you here?” you asked suspiciously. “I’m supposed to be kept here until tomorrow.”

“I’m here to bust you out. But you have to come with me.” He held a hand out to you and you stared at it, eyes narrowed. 

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” You scooted away from him, aware that you wouldn’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon after such a creep had come by. Your muscles were tense as his hand fell back to his side. Figuring that things could go badly, you tried to soften your tone. “Really, I appreciate the thought, but I’m fine here.”

“Girl, you are dumber than I thought.” He snorted before marching forwards, forcibly grabbing your arm. You had been stupid not to stand up, for you were unprepared to deal with this sudden assault. He wrenched you to your feet, reopening Niel’s knife wound, and clasped a foul-smelling hand over your mouth and nose. Whispering hotly into your ear, he said, “don’t you want to get out? I’m your ticket. For a price.”

You tried to scream, but his hand was an effective muffler. Realizing that you were going to keep putting up a fight, the guy started to drag you out. He was much stronger than you, easily moving you despite your attempts to thrash and kick your way out. 

His hand was sweaty, though, and slippery. You gave it some slack and he shifted, his thumb passing over your lip. You immediately lurched forwards and bit down onto his finger as hard as you could, satisfied with his grunt of pain.

“ _Help_!” you shrieked, taking advantage of your momentary second of freedom. His arm tightened painfully around your abdomen as you writhed, screaming. “Help me!”

Your shrill voice travelled far, and you saw something resembling a figure in the distance. Eagerly, you tried to call out for them, before your attacker slapped you across the face. He put a knee to your gut, effectively killing your attempt to call for help, and dropped you to the ground. Whimpering, you could only draw yourself into the fetal position in an attempt to quell the hot throbbing pain that’d risen in your stomach and face.

“Hey!” the kid that had been running toward you said. He dropped to your side warily, balancing on a knee. “What happened to you?”

“Some guy tried…” you wheezed. You couldn’t put together a sentence, the bruising pain in your soft abdomen too much to bear. You peeked up at the boy through tears, clutching your stomach. “Can you… get… Newt?”

“Uh, sure. Hey, Thomas! Can you wake up Newt? She’s asking for him!”

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to fight off the immense waves of sharp fire. Time seemed to stop entirely. Your entire world became a hot Hell of excruciating pain, each of your thoughts disintegrating to it. You weren’t even aware of being lifted up until you heard Newt’s voice in your head.

“You’ll be all right, [Name]. You’ll be okay.”

His warmth cradled you. You focused on each one of his words, trying to concentrate on taking gasping breaths. The empty air under you turned into a much softer bed, and you sank into it, your eyes still shut tightly. Each breath hurt to take, and your heart was racing, seeking out the worst possible outcome. What if he’d snapped one of your ribs and it was puncturing your lung? What if you’d die here?

“[Name]? Look at me, love, look at me.”

You heard Newt’s voice again and obliged, taking a shuddery breath. Tears overflowed silently, but you could still make out his blurry face, swimming in your vision. Your eyes caught on his. They were so strikingly blue that you nearly forgot to breathe, becoming faint.

“I’m going to get some painkillers for you. Wait here. I’m not leaving you again, okay? Wait here.”

You wheezed out something resembling an ‘okay’, and he left. He tucked his hand through your hair first, his palm warm against your face. He was back just as quickly as he promised, a tray balancing in his hands.

“Can you sit up?”

You made an attempt but cried out pathetically. The pain seemed to be spreading up to your chest, and you could only lie there. Newt knelt next to you, setting the tray down on some sort of bed stand. He gently held a glass of water and two white circular tablets in front of your face.

“Drink these. They’ll help.”

You did, with some difficulty swallowing the bitter pills. Your cheek felt swollen. You were hyper-aware of the fact that you probably looked hideous, tear-stained and bruised up, but you couldn’t even care about that right now. You had the idea that you were capable of taking care of yourself, but you felt so weak and damaged that you were overwhelmingly grateful Newt was here.

“I got you some, uh…” He read the label. “Frozen peas and carrots. To help with the swelling. Here, I’ll wrap it up for you.” Gently, the cool bag was pressed to your cheek, underneath a soft towel. You raised a hand to support it, and he gave you the second bag for your stomach. Gingerly, you sat it up against you, relishing the numbing cold that it passed to your aching skin.

“Thanks,” you murmured, finally able to form a proper word now that the drugs were kicking in. Your vision was swimming—probably a side effect of the medicine—so you struggled to hold on for a moment longer. “Thanks, Newt…”

“What’re you thanking me for?” he said miserably. You couldn’t even open your eyes, for they were too heavy, and could only listen. “This happened because of me.”

“No,” you slurred, “no, it… was the other guy. You didn’t do… anything wrong.”

“You’re too good of a person [Name],” he whispered. You couldn’t see the pain in his eyes, but you could hear it in his voice. His hand was in your hair again, and he sighed. “Just rest.”

You wanted to get up and tell him sternly that it was _not_ his fault, and that there was absolutely nothing he could’ve done. But chemically induced sleep called, and you were unable to resist any longer. The last thing you remembered was his fingers weaving in your hair.

_Continue with the story on page 13._

__


	12. 12

_Fine. I’ll go._

The last thing you wanted was to go to jail for something you didn’t do. Still, they had a point. Things had changed while you were here. What with Minho’s foot injury, your own arm, and Niel’s sudden psychotic shift, something had to be done. If it could be resolved by you spending a night twiddling your thumbs in a cell, then so be it. But that didn’t mean you’d go with your thumb in your mouth.

“I’ll go,” you spat. “But I’m telling you all, it’s not me. You’ll see soon enough.”

Your tone was more bitter than it probably should’ve carried. Gally picked up on it, beady eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“What do you mean, _you’ll see_?”

“I mean…” You faltered. Arguing with him wasn’t going to get you anywhere. Instead, you merely shut your mouth and glared. To your surprise, somebody finished the thought for you. Turning, you saw it was Thomas.

“She means that you’ll realize that you made a mistake.” He put a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of it seeming to spread through your injured arm. Whispering, he leant down so that only you could hear. “You don’t actually have to do this, you know.”

Hearing him say it made your resolve waver, so you shook your head. “Thanks, but I can handle myself for a night. I’ll be fine.”

“Good that then,” Newt said dismissively. He looked to Thomas. “See that she’s comfy in the slammer, Tommy.”

“Yeah.”

They all dispersed, whispering under their breaths. Thomas still had his hand on your shoulder. He squeezed it once, reassuringly, before letting go and sighing. You looked up at his pitiful expression.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” you said in an upbeat tone, hoping to reassure him. “I won’t drop the soap or anything.”

He raised an eyebrow, before letting out a laugh, to your relief. You didn’t like that totally grim face of his. Something about him was so serious that you felt the urge to lighten up the mood to get him to smile. It fit his features much better.

“Come with me,” he said, leading you off. He walked by your side, head turned down to the ground as he was deep in thought—but his shoulders grazed yours, and hearing his footsteps match yours gave you some sense of relief.

\---

He and one of the key keepers settled you down in the Slammer. It was a simple concrete box with a padlocked door and bars for windows. It wasn’t as terrifying as you had made it out to be in your mind. Still, after the two boys had left, you’d tested the door and windows by wriggling them. Not to escape; out of curiosity. But they were solid. Needless to say, it was secure. 

The doors had closed while you were locked up. Being farther away this time, they sounded like distant giants groaning, before falling asleep. You couldn’t help but lean on the bars wistfully. You’d agreed to put yourself away, but you hadn’t imagined that it’d be so incredibly boring. You realized that the doors shutting also meant the shut out of Niel. His Banishment was tonight. You closed your eyes in grief for the kid, before turning away.

You paced, scraped drawings onto the walls with pebbles, and even began to play tic-tac-toe with yourself before you heard a set of footsteps. Jumping up to your feet, you raced to the window to see who it was. Your heart sank with disappointment when the figure turned out to be somebody other than Thomas. You weren’t sure why you were expecting him so badly. Regardless, the boy was familiar, and you recognized him as the pudgy kid who’d stood up for you earlier.

“My name’s Chuck,” he introduced, kneeling by the windows. He had a cloth that looked chunky, as if it were filled with things. He looked down at you before extending a hand through the bars. “Thomas asked me to bring you stuff, since he’s stuck in the Gathering.”

“There’s another Gathering?” you mused. Still, you shook his hand, and gave him your own name. It was warm and small, and you were grateful to have Chuck’s company.

“Yeah. Things are turbulent, what with Niel’s Banishing and having a weird girl pop up out of the Box. Er, no offense.”

“None taken. I get it. Even if that Gally guy was kind of a prick about it…” 

Chuck shrugged. He unwrapped his towel and began to pass things through the bars. There was a bag of leftovers, a blanket, and a flattened pillow.

“Thanks Chuck,” you said, after setting them down on the wooden chair. He shrugged again, looking embarrassed.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Thomas. He’s the one who like, begged me to go out and sneak you these things.”

“Thomas asked you to do this?” You couldn’t help but be surprised. His distant smile drifted to your mind and you fought a grin of your own. “Well, tell him thanks.”

“Will do. You know, he said that you’re the closest thing he recognizes. He talks about you a lot.”

You leant forwards as Chuck talked. It was like having a little brother snitch on the older one. You probably shouldn’t ask any farther, in respect to Thomas, but your curiosity won out quickly.

“What do you mean, ‘closest thing he recognizes’?”

“He says that he feels the closest to you. I thought it was because you and he are the closest in terms of being here. He was the Greenbean before you, you know?”

You could faintly remember hearing that somewhere. Chuck continued talking, sounding excited to have somebody to discuss this with.

“So I asked if that was it, and he said no. Apparently he thinks that he’s seen you around somewhere before. Have you guys met? Before the Glade?”

“No,” you replied, although a bit hesitantly. Truthfully, you felt the same way. There was something familiar about Thomas, like a childhood scent. You knew full well that you’d never met him before. But were you really sure? After all, your memories had been wiped, but there must’ve been _something_ before that. Who was to say that you hadn’t just forgotten about him?

Chuck seemed to see the gears turning in your head and leant closer, his face looking especially large as he squeezed up close to the bars. 

“Do you like him?” he asked eagerly. Immediately, you felt yourself blushing.

“I-I mean… he’s nice to me. I guess. Why’re you asking me that?!”

Chuck leant back, looking satisfied and mischievous like some evil mouse. You swatted at him through the bars.

“Don’t tell him I said that!”

“Sure, sure.” He glanced over his shoulder and then back at you, apologetic in his countenance. “Look, I’ve got to get back. We’re not supposed to talk with you.”

“Oh.” You were a bit disappointed to see your new friend go, but nodded. “Don’t get in trouble because of me.”

“Good night. [Name]. Do you mind if I call you that?”

“No,” you replied, beaming. Nobody except for Thomas had recognized your name. “I don’t mind at all. Night, Chuck.”

He smiled toothily and got up, jogging away. You watched him go. Once he had left your sight, you turned back to the chair, pulling the blanket around yourself. A childhood scent… had you met Thomas before, and merely forgotten? You didn’t think you could forget somebody like that.

There wasn’t much else to be done. You laid down onto the ground, hugging the pillow tight to yourself, and fell asleep with a soft smile on your face.

\---

The sound of a scuffle woke you up. Your eyes snapped open urgently and you sat up, electrified, and saw two murky figures standing over you. One figure had a red complexion, angry bumps marring his face like the moon’s surface. The scream caught in your throat as Moonface disappeared, breathing hard as he ran away. The other one loomed over you and you scooted back, hurriedly trying to find a way out of this predicament.

“Look, I’m not asking for any trouble—!” you began, but the figure immediately stopped, a hand held up defensively.

“Wait, [Name]—it’s me. Thomas.”

His face became clearer as you looked harder. You breathed a sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping. Then, you remembered where you were, and looked at him with more concern.

“What are you doing here? Who was that other guy?”

“I saw him opening the door. I didn’t think it would end up as anything good. I should’ve caught him… damn.”

“But… how did you know he was here? I didn’t even hear him until you woke me up…”

“I…” Thomas trailed off, and then averted his gaze, his brow furrowing. “I had a dream. You were in it, for some reason, so I figured I might as well check on how you were doing. It was luck.”

“Oh.” You sighed, finally getting up. “I guess I should thank you for your good luck, then.”

You were still groggy, so the weight of what he’d said didn’t sink in until a bit later. You looked at him curiously. 

“What kind of dream were you having?” you asked.

“Nothing weird!” he blurted out, looking as if you’d caught him doing something sketchy. He shook his head, hurriedly running a hand through his dark hair. “I just… it felt more like a memory than anything.”

“Can you tell me about it?” you asked, excited at the word ‘memory’. With none of your own, you wanted to hear what Thomas had seen, and wanted to know what you were doing in his head. 

“I can’t remember most of it. But I think we were at a beach, collecting shells. I didn’t think it was weird at the time, but when I woke up, I couldn’t ever remember being to a beach. Do you?”

“No.” You knew what a beach was, in concept. You knew it was sandy and had seagulls and a big ol’ blue ocean, but you didn’t have any memories putting yourself there. You scratched your head, frustrated. “I wish I’d had a dream, too.”

“It was nice,” Thomas murmured. He looked out the Slammer door. “But… we’ve just got this maze instead.”

“You said you were a Runner, right?” you asked, a bit gingerly. It seemed to be a sensitive topic around these places. He looked back at you, nodding with a bit of surprise. 

“So… you go out into the maze. What do you do?” 

“We try and solve it, I guess. Minho’s been here longer than I have. They’ve got maps from years and years ago… but they haven’t been able to solve it. And they’re smart guys.” Thomas let out a deep, melancholic exhale. “I don’t know. We’re doing the best we can.”

“I’m sure,” you murmured, sensing a hint of insecurity behind his measured tone. You patted his back. The touch seemed to jolt him back into reality and he looked and you, before glancing to the Slammer door.

“Well, the door’s busted, and I don’t know where the keys are.” He looked down at your bandaged arm, which you had totally forgotten about until now. You patted it with your other hand and winced when you felt a wetness on the bandaging.

“I must’ve reopened the wound…”

“Shoot. Okay, come with me. I don’t feel like waking anybody up, but I know where they keep the bandages.”

He walked out the Slammer. You hesitated at the door, looking back. Thomas noticed and stopped, turning back to you.

“If anybody has a problem with you being out, they can talk to me about it. Come on.”

You nodded. Although warily, you stepped outside, quickly jogging back up to Thomas’ side. He slowed down for your pace. The both of you didn’t say anything, as not to wake anybody up, but you couldn’t help but wonder how he’d seen you in his dream. You and he at the beach. Why would you be there? Why would you be with him? Where even _were_ you now? Was his dream even real? There were too many questions and zero answers.

So you decided to quietly take peace in walking in stride with him.

He brought you to the Homestead. He made a ‘shush’ expression, and you nodded. Whispering extra quietly, he lead you around the rooms, searching for a certain one.

“Minho and Newt are sleeping here. I’d rather not wake them.”

You nodded, looking down to make sure each footstep was carefully placed. There were some guys in sleeping bags littering the floor. Some were snoring loudly, covering the creaks that your weight put into the floorboard. Thomas opened a door, checking inside, before gesturing to you. You followed him inside, allowing him to close the door behind you with a tiny click.

It was a closet, at best, and was so dark that you had to stand in the dark and stare at nothing before your eyes adjusted to the shadows. Thomas fumbled around, but found something. You saw his hand glow red and deduced that he’d found a flashlight and put his hand over it. 

You found the box of bandages by kicking it. Thomas dug around in it and drew up some gauze. He gestured for you to sit, and the both of you did, your feet both knocking against each other due to the lack of space and his own tall frame. You placed your arm in front of him, and he gently unwound the bandages. You grit your teeth as he did, the rough gauze scraping up with your tender, raw flesh.

“Sorry,” he murmured. You didn’t think it was just for this.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you replied, your whisper seeming incredibly loud in the quiet, tiny space. “You couldn’t have stopped it. Besides, I think you saved me back there. If you hadn’t gotten there, who knows what would’ve happened?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I should’ve known that some guys would’ve been looking to take advantage of you…”

You didn’t know how to get him to stop blaming himself. You allowed him to finish patching you up and flexed your hand, satisfied with its fit. He leant back, his head hitting the wall with a soft thud.

“I don’t think we’re getting out,” you admitted. He looked at you, confused, his brown eyes seeming to glow in the dim flashlight’s beam.

“Why?”

You demonstrated by testing the door. It wouldn’t open. Somebody had either sat or fallen asleep in front of the door. Thomas muttered a curse under his breath.

“Sorry. I guess we’re stuck here.”

“Not a bad place to be,” you said jokingly. You drew your legs up to your chin to try and give him more space, and then smiled. “Still, try and get some rest. I’m sure you’ll be busy tomorrow morning, what with the whole ‘solving the maze to save us all’ thing.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You can lean on my shoulder if you want,” you offered, a bit shyly. Hastily, you added, “Because it’s cramped.”

“That’s… um, thanks.” You knew he would have declined your offer, but what with the horribly limited space in the closet, there was no other feasible option. You turned so that the both of you were facing the door, and patted your shoulder. Slowly, he leant his head down, until his weight rested on you.

“Thanks,” he said again, sounding sleepy. He seemed much more vulnerable than you would’ve expected from him. His aura had such a commanding power to it. That aura wasn’t helping him much in a broom closet, though, and you felt lucky to see him this way. You gently laid your own head on his, and closed your own eyes, thinking of the beach and picturing him there with you.

“You’re welcome.”

_Continue with the story on page 13._

__


	13. 13

You woke up early, sun filtering red through your eyelids. Sitting up, you touched the bandages of your arm. Memory served you soon, and despite all that’d happened last night, you were feeling much better. You still hadn’t gotten a watch, but judging by the fact that the guy who’d gotten you out of the Slammer last night was still snoring away, you figured that it was still early. You snuck out of the Homestead without waking him up, and stretched in the morning air. It was humid like every other day, the temperature a touch cooler. The greenery was lush, and with everybody fast asleep, the Glade almost seemed like a haven. You could’ve believed that if not for the grey stone walls looking down on you disapprovingly. Just the sight of them made you shiver with unease.

You took advantage of everybody’s sleep by taking a quick shower, washing off any evidence of your time in the dusty Slammer. You’d taken extra bandaging with you on your way out of the Homestead and bandaged up your arm wound, which was healing along fine after being torn back open yesterday. You had also taken a new black shirt and changed into that, which hung around your thighs like a poorly fitted dress. You wished that the Glade had changes of feminine underwear, but you doubted that. The soaps were decent and you felt reenergized by the time you snuck back out of the showers.

Nobody seemed to have woken up yet. Even the sun was only just beginning to crawl forwards, washing everything over with a cool morning light. You wondered if you should camp out near the Slammer, since people like Gally would only grow more suspicious of you to find you jaunting about freely. Then, his face flashed to mind. The one that’d saved you last night. His reassurance that he’d take the fall for you made you decide against going back to jail. Feeling a bit rebellious for it, you walked back to the Homestead, but sat on the steps instead of going back inside. Propping your head up in your hands, you waited for the day and all of its events to come by.

To your surprise, you heard somebody approaching you almost immediately. You sat up, your jaw tightening as your eyes caught on the gigantic, lopsided nose.

“Gally,” you said stiffly. Your shoulders tensed apprehensively. He shifted uncomfortably, standing an awkwardly far distance away from you.

“Hey, uh… I’m sorry. For saying those things yesterday.”

The sudden 360 from his previous attitude made you raise an eyebrow. 

“What changed?” you asked skeptically. You half-wondered if he’d co-conspired with Moonface yesterday to sully your reputation even further.

“I saw what happened at the Slammer. I was walking by to the washrooms when I saw Ruddy grab the keys, so I kind of looked out for him when I was walking back to bed and saw him and you… well. Yeah. I would’ve gone to help, but that guy beat me to it.” Gally kept gesturing oddly, and you saw that his face was screwed up with genuine regret. You could’ve been petty and told him to eat your klunk, but… there was nothing good to come out of being mad at him forever. Besides, he already looked like he felt bad enough about it.

“Thanks, Gally.” You didn’t say ‘it’s okay’, because clearly, he was an asshole—or as these guys would say, a right slinthead—but you accepted his apology. He seemed to understand that that was as far as you were going to go and nodded once. He seemed to be about to say something else when somebody interrupted from behind. 

“Did something weird happen while I was asleep, or what?”

The new voice had the both of you looking. You spotted Thomas as he made his way out of the Homestead, casting a suspicious glare over the both of you. You shrugged, showing him that Gally had lost his hostility.

“You’re up early,” you commented. Thomas shot another dirty look to Gally, who took his cue to leave, scuttling away like a wounded duck. His brown eyes were softer when they turned back to you.

“I have to be. Doors open in a few.”

“Oh.” You looked to the giant monoliths, feeling a shiver come across you again as you did. For some reason, they kept giving you the chills. You peeked out at Thomas out the corner of your eye, watching him stretch absentmindedly.

“Hey, Thomas? Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you become a Runner? Did you choose it or did they like, make you?”

“I chose it.” He looked curious as to why you’d be asking and gave you a strange look, bending an arm back behind his head. You tried not to track the movement with your eyes.

“It’s just… after what happened to Minho, it looks like being a Runner is a lot more dangerous than you make it out to be.” You twiddled with your thumbs. You didn’t really want to admit aloud that you were worrying after him, but he seemed to catch your drift and chuckled softly.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s not all fun and games. But I couldn’t think about being anything else, here. The idea of being out in the maze just called to me. Do you know what that’s like?” He looked to you, suddenly serious looking. “To just have something call to you, even when you have no idea what it’s about. Like one of our lost memories is trying to resurface.”

You had a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about skipping around the maze anymore. His deep brown eyes were thoughtful as he stared at you, for a bit too long, and then he looked away. You felt yourself take a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“The doors are going to open soon,” he said, a bit awkwardly after the soulful stare he’d just given you. He cleared his throat and stood up, before hesitating, and looked back. “I’ll see you around, [Name].”

“Yeah. Good luck out there, Thomas.” Your heart fluttered when you heard your name in his mouth. He seemed to have something else to say and nodded down at you.

“Take care of yourself. Okay? Don’t be afraid to ask for anything if you need it. If anything happens and I’m not here, let Newt or Minho know.”

He gave you a gentle pat on the head and turned, making his way out towards a door. You couldn’t help but stare at his broad shoulders as he jogged away, warming himself up. You touched your hair gingerly, the warmth of his hand a ghost on your head. A forgotten memory trying to resurface, huh?

The door then burst open a lot more aggressively than it had when Thomas had come out. You jumped, turning around to see Minho barrelling out. He stopped and looked at you, as if he’d ask a question, before shaking his head. He began to move past you and was already off the steps before you could ask him where he was going.

“The maze,” he replied matter-of-factly, as if you should’ve known. Your eyes widened.

“What—wait, you can’t go out there! Not with your foot still hurt.”

“I’m fine, Greenie. See? I’m walking. Besides, nobody’ll cover my quadrant if I don’t go out there. I already wasted a day yesterday. With Niel out, we need as many Runners on the grid as we can get.” He was starting to limp away again, a shadow of Newt, when you stood up to jog after him hastily.

“Look, Minho. I get that you have this whole ‘I’ve got to save the world’ mindset, but you’re not going to be able to do that if you collapse in the maze and get caught when the doors shut. Or worse—what if a Griever comes by again? You’re in no shape to run. You’ve got to rest a while longer.”

He shook you off of his arm disgruntledly. “I _told_ you. We’re out of Runners. Niel’s going to get Banished, so we’re _down_ one. Tommy was good to take two quadrants yesterday, but he can’t take three. We have no back-ups. Unless _you_ want to get out there.” He scoffed at the idea and began to forge forwards again, forcing you to jog to keep yourself in front of him.

“Minho, please—!”

“Girl—” He finally stopped in his tracks, sucking in an annoyed sigh. He exhaled deeply, hands on his waist, collecting his thoughts before finally looking up at you. His brown eyes gleamed in the sun.

“Okay. Look. I’m really thankful that you’re this worked up for me and whatnot. But if I don’t go out there, we lose a day of maps. Without those maps, we ain’t got jack on getting out of this place. Don’t you see that I don’t have a choice? So _thanks_ , but _move_.”

“Newt!” you cried out, spotting the blond mop at the Homestead. You ignored Minho’s heartfelt speech entirely and waved. “Newt, please come and talk some sense into Minho!”

“You’ve got to be shuckin’ kidding me,” the Asian boy groaned, turning around. Newt limped over curiously, looking you over once.

“You guys good?” Newt asked, innocently confused. Minho beamed brightly.

“Fine! If the Greenie’d just move the hell out of the way—”

“I’m not letting you go out there, Minho. Not while you’re still hurt. There’s no way you’ll be able to run on that, and you’d just make it worse.”

“You trying to get out into the maze, Minho?” Newt asked, a suddenly cold, but faintly paternal tone taking hold of his voice. He turned on Minho with an authoritative posture, and Minho groaned, sensing imminent defeat. He shot you a glare that read _this is your fault_.

“Newt, you know I’ve got to go.”

“Minho, _you_ know I’ll beat your arse to the ground before you take a step out those doors. You tore up your foot way too bad to be jumping up and down on it. If I don’t see you checking in with Clint in five minutes, I will eat your rations in front of you. Slowly.”

“Goddammit Newt!” Minho swore. But he knew better than to argue with the Glade’s right-hand man, and gave you another sour look before storming off. Newt sighed, turning to watch him go. You were vaguely aware of the weight of his eyes on your profile.

“Thanks, [Name]. He would’ve gone out on his own if you hadn’t said anything.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I was just doing what’s right.” You felt a bit bashful being praised so openly, especially after getting such condescending treatment from Minho, and blushed a bit. You fanned off the heat by asking Newt if he were all right. He looked surprised.

“Fine. You? After yesterday, I mean…” he trailed off.

“Well…” Moonface’s foul smelling breath hit your memories and you outwardly cringed. Newt nodded sympathetically.

“Yeah. That. Don’t worry about it, all right? We’re taking care of it.”

“Thanks. Gally mentioned that he thought it was a guy named Ruddy, if that helps at all.”

“Ruddy?” Newt’s blue eyes widened and he scowled, crossing his muscular arms and staring up to the sky disgustedly. “Bloody hell. Kid was always an ass, but I never thought… well, you’ve no need to think about that any longer. He’s going to have to taste the Slammer himself.”

“Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me. I should be apologizing to you. If I’d taken better precautions…” 

“There was nothing you could’ve done,” you insisted. “He acted on his own volition. You couldn’t have known or stopped him. Nobody could’ve.”

“Yeah, I… nah. I’ll drop it. It’s probably annoying for you to hear me yap on about it. But seriously, [Name]?” 

You met his gaze, feeling paralyzed by it. He smiled softly, his hair tickling his chin in the breeze. The image struck itself into your memories, and you had the feeling that you wouldn’t be able to forget this image.

“You’ll be safe now. Count on it.”

You nodded, dazed. His words were still being processed in your head when you both heard somebody call his name. He looked, and saw a faraway figure waving at him. He turned back to you and gave an apologetic shrug.

“Duty calls. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do, Newt.”

He nodded and began to limp away. Seeing that he was moving much slower than he normally did, you quickly called “take care!” out after him. He stopped, before putting a hand up in a lazy wave. You smiled as he continued on.

Figuring that you should loop back into the Homestead and make sure that Minho was doing what he was told, you set your course. The ground seemed to shudder as the doors outside scraped open. Now used to it, you ground your teeth together and continued on, counting each breath until there was blissful silence. Silently, you sent up a prayer for Thomas. You only had a faint idea of what praying entailed, but if it’d help, you’d gladly do it.

The Homestead was poorly lit, and you navigated slowly so that you didn’t run into a wall. Where did Minho even stay, anyways? You figured that you might as well start knocking on random doors and did so, waiting for a response.

“What?” came the highly disgruntled resident. Definitely Minho, to your luck. He might have locked you out if you declared yourself, so you opened the door first, hoping he was decent.

“It’s me,” you said after entering, casting your eyes over the room carefully. He had clothes on, thankfully. Your gaze landed on his foot and saw that he was doing a very bad job of trying to patch up the bandaging Clint had done for him. He scowled as you stared.

“Well?” he snapped peevishly, “are you going to help me or not?”

“Oh, I… okay.” You didn’t think that he’d openly ask you to help him after his attitude with you, but closed the door behind you obligingly, stepping forwards. “Why didn’t you just talk to Clint like Newt asked?”

“ _Because_ Newt told me to.” The spiteful, nearly childish response made your lips shoot up into a grin, and you barely caught the laugh in your chest. He whipped his head over, glaring at you. “What?!” he demanded, and you shook your head, crouching by his bedside.

“Nothing.”

You took the roll of bandages and worked it around his foot, clipping it up. He winced as your fingers touched him, and you apologized quietly. Still, you were glad that he was here and not outside in the maze. You didn’t want to think about what’d happen to him if a Griever rolled up around the corner.

“Look, can I ask you something?”

He surprised you with the question, since you hadn’t expected him to try and start a conversation with you at all. You withdrew your hands, getting up and sitting next to him on the cot with a nod.

“You okay?”

“Uh…” Moonface flashed before you again and you winced. Minho caught the expression and grimaced, waving you off.

“Nevermind. Bad question. I mean, _will_ you be okay?”

“I guess,” you responded, unsure of what he wanted from you. You shrugged. “I’m just adapting, and trying to get used to this whole thing. That’s all.”

He nodded. “You remind me of one of the guys we first started with. He kinda acted like you. Kind of annoying, too.”

“I do?” you asked, startled. You didn’t have any old memories of your own to compare Minho to, and felt a bit more curious than you wanted to be. “Who was he?”

“Dunno. He came up in the Box like the rest of us first-timers. He was a runner, too. He got… well, I think you can figure it out. Right?”

Your stomach turned. The lush, dark area of the forest Newt had gestured to before… you’d gone over and checked it out during one of your breaks. The wooden crosses with scratched in names was a sickening, yet eerily peaceful sight. You nodded grimly. 

“Thanks for comparing me to him,” you murmured dryly, but Minho hadn’t finished.

“He was one of our best. A good guy. A strong guy. You… I don’t know what it is about you, but you remind me of him.” He reached out, suddenly yanking on your lower earlobe, laughing when you cried out in surprise.

“What the hell, Minho?!” you demanded, and he shrugged with a faint smile on his usually scowling face.

“Well, don’t worry about dying. You’re not him. But tell me something… you find me familiar at all?”

“You, familiar?” you retorted. “I’d try to forget you even if I _did_ know you before.”

“Okay, listen up punk—!”

He reached out to pull on your ear again, prompting you to dart away and out of his room. You closed the door behind you hurriedly, your back flat against it. Was Minho familiar? Was he the one you kept finding in your dreams…?

In either case, you decided to leave it be, not wanting to think too far into it. You left the Homestead again, determined to make yourself useful. People were up and milling around, casting you strange looks but saying nothing of your sudden freedom. You figured that since Frypan had been one of the nicer ones, you’d try to help out in the kitchens again. He seemed delighted to see you, shaking your hand vigorously, and the rest of the kitchen guys greeted you cheerily as well. It seemed like everybody had conveniently forgotten about putting you in jail. You were pretty sure you knew why. Word of Moonface’s antics had probably gotten out, and it looked as if the Gladers had decided to meet you with solidarity rather than apprehension. It was as if things were going to work out… as well as they could in a dangerous, confined glade. 

The work was grueling, but it was good. It kept you occupied for so long that when you looked up, it was nightfall, and dinner was to be served. 

Frypan had insisted on preparing a feast. Although he never outright stated it to be, you knew that he as well as the others wanted to apologize to you for your uncalled trip to the Slammer. Overflowing plates of chicken and cake and other delicious foods was a hell of an apology, and you’d gladly take it.

A campfire was kicked up by the time you left the kitchen, drying off your hands. A small smile sat on your face as you saw guys jostling each other, genuine grins painted brightly onto their faces. It was a welcome change from the gray cold that seemed to leak from the maze walls. Your smile faded away when your eyes caught on the dark shadows.

You had missed it, but you’d overheard people talking about Niel’s Banishment. Even though you couldn’t have been responsible for it, you felt guilty nonetheless. He was too young. It didn’t seem like he deserved it, but you’d definitely visit his grave and pay your respects. 

Something caught your eye and you realized it was Thomas, waving at you. Newt, Minho, Alby, and a couple others were sitting in a circle. Thomas smiled at you reassuringly and you made your way over.

“How was the maze today?” you asked. He shrugged nonchalantly, plastic spoon stuck into his mouth. It was probably the best news you could get about the maze, so you laid off it. Alby pulled your attention away by clapping a large, strong hand onto your shoulder, nearly making you fall right into the fire.

“Look, Greenie.” He whispered into your ear. “We tried to keep it hush, but what Ruddy did to you wasn’t okay. Even though you’re… _different_ … you’re one of us.” Leaning away, he said much more loudly in his authoritative voice, “welcome to the shuckin’ Glade.”

“Good that,” chorused the others, raising glasses. They clinked and you saw Newt squeeze his eyes shut after downing the murky liquid. Alby grimaced wryly at you with faint amusement.

“Frypan’s been dabbling with brewery,” he explained. “Take care of the boys, will you? They’ll need your help tomorrow morning.”

“Can do, Alby. Thank you.” You nodded and he took his hand off of you, moving off to the other groups of boys to check in. Minho reached up, grabbing your wrist and jerkily pulling you down onto the log. A glass was pushed into your hand before you could comprehend what was going on, and Minho knocked the bottom of it upwards, spilling some of the foul smelling liquid onto your chin.

“Drink up girl!” he said excitedly, a red flush encompassing his entire body. “Let loose, for once! You still look like you’ve got a klunk sittin’ pretty in your pants.”

“I’ll pass—” you began, but Newt cut you off with a loud, rambunctious “naw”. 

“You’ll drink, Greenie. You’re a Glader now, ain’t you? Bottoms up—aye, cheers!”

As a last resort, you looked to Thomas, who had always seemed to be rational. The dark haired boy merely shrugged, obviously trying to contain an amused grin. His lips moved silently. _Drink up_.

You rolled your eyes and pinched your nose, attempting to swallow the drink without thinking about it. It was a cross between liquid fire and garbage water and you nearly heaved it right back up, gagging, earning the cheers of the entire Glade.

Yeah. Maybe things would be okay after all.

The party didn’t wind down until much, much later. Everybody’s faces were aglow from Frypan’s Hellish concoction and firelight. You stumbled over sleeping bodies, your own vision spinning a bit after one too many of those glasses. The washroom had to be somewhere this way, right…? You didn’t realize that you’d been walking the wrong direction until you heard twigs snap under your feet. This was the damn forest. With a swear, you half-considered doing your business by a tree before turning around, ready to trudge the opposite direction before a shadow caught your eye. It moved too quickly to be any kind of plant, and you froze. Your heart raced, the blood rushing in your ears thickly.

“Hello?” you called out nervously, taking a step towards it. Logic would have told you to turn around and get some help before walking towards the creepy moving thing, but logic had been tossed out the window by drink number four, so you kept moving forwards. You stumbled on a rock—motor control had been lost by drink number six—and you held onto a tree branch as you peered into the dark. “Hey, you okay?”

You could almost taste the regret before it happened. Something flew out at you, knocking you into the trunk of the tree you’d just been steadying yourself against. The pain was sharp and sobered you up immediately, radiating from your back. A red, pockmarked face like the moon stared back at you, his hand pressed harshly against your mouth and nose. You thrashed.

“Mmngh!” was all you could manage. It was Moonface—Ruddy. His blue eyes narrowed.

“Shut up!” he squeaked, his voice hoarse. “Shut the hell up or I’ll snap your stupid neck!”

You quieted at the threat. Your vision was becoming unclear and your lungs burned without air. He felt you slacken and moved his thumb, letting you breathe with your nostrils. Desperately, you tried to fill your lungs, your eyes wide and scanning around for anything that could help.

 _He should be in the Slammer. The hell is he doing out here?_ you thought, your hands digging into his as you tried to force him off your mouth. His palm pressed harder into your face as he looked behind him hurriedly, making sure nobody was there. Ruddy’s face came closer to yours as he hissed, anger bleeding from each syllable.

“It’s your fault. You got me in the Slammer. If they find out I escaped, I’m going to get shucking _Banished_ , and it’s your damn fault! They’ll throw me out like they did to Niel. He—y-your stupid ass boyfriend—he ain’t got no mercy. He’ll make Alby do anything. If they can all do that to a sick guy like Niel, they’ll Banish me too.”

While he was frantically blaming you for his problems, you were focused on the tree behind you. There’d been a piece of fairly loose bark, sharply digging into your back. It made a loud crack when it came free, startling Ruddy enough for you to swing. The bark scraped roughly with his neck and he swore loudly, his hand on your mouth loosening just enough for you to scream. You didn’t know why you called for him. You didn’t know why you thought of him; dreamt of him; felt like you’d known him from a past life—his name fell out of your mouth on instinct.

Raw and afraid, you screamed the name of…

**PAGE 14: Thomas.  
PAGE 15: Minho.  
PAGE 16: Newt.**


	14. 14

_Thomas._

“Thomas!” you screeched as you broke free. Ruddy’s thumb felt like it was gouging your eye out as he tried to clamp his hand back over your mouth. You ignored him, your raw animalistic instinct giving you no choice but to beg for Thomas’ help. For some reason, nobody else came to mind. Thomas felt like the only person who could help you.

“ _Thomas_!” you cried again, before the salt of Ruddy’s sweat suffocated you once again.

“Shut the hell up,” Ruddy wheezed, but it sounded more like a desperate plea than anything else. His fingernails dug into your skin as one hand gripped your throat like he was trying to physically wring every last drop of life from you. You fought him, but Ruddy was built with far too much strength, and soon you felt your own slipping away. Your heart raged as it tried to pump blood to your fast-dying brain. Your hands shook uselessly as they fell away from his wrists, unable to pry him off. Your eyelids fell shut pathetically despite the tears welling in hot floods. You were about to die here.

“[Name]!”

Your eyes snapped open when you heard Thomas call out to you hoarsely. Invigorated, you thrashed out blindly, startling Ruddy just enough for him to slacken his grip ever so slightly. It was enough. Thomas walloped the taller red-headed boy across the back of the head, freeing your throat when Ruddy collapsed to the ground. Like a fish out of water you gasped, wheezing as you tried to satiate the clamour of your acidic cells. At your hands and knees, you could do nothing more than gulp down breaths of air. Your vision restored itself slowly, the blurry gaps filling in as you searched for Thomas’ face. You recognized the back of his head first, but the violence emanating from him made it look like a different person entirely.

“Step off him!” somebody yelled, trying to grab the back of his shirt. Thomas whipped his arm back, silently giving Ruddy blow after blow, ignoring the shouts of people telling him to stop. You might’ve felt a bit more at ease if Thomas was yelling or cursing, but he wordlessly beat Ruddy down into the Earth with the cruel intention of keeping him down there.

“No,” you whispered. If he kept at it, you didn’t want to think about what was going to happen to Ruddy. Maybe Ruddy deserved it, and maybe he didn’t deserve another chance, but he didn’t deserve to _die_. Thomas didn’t deserve to have that weight on his shoulders.

You groaned as you hauled yourself to your feet. Staggering, you took a step forward. Somebody noticed you moving and tried to stop you, but you shook him off.

“Thomas,” you whispered, unable to raise your voice any higher. Nobody else tried to keep you from moving closer and you staggered. “Thomas, don’t.”

He ignored you. _Thwump_. Another angry blow to Ruddy’s lifeless body. Determined, you ground your teeth together, ignoring the pain rising in your throat as you leapt forwards. Why was it that ever since you’d come here, you were throwing your bodies at these boys to save their damn lives?

The momentum was enough to upset even Thomas’ strength, toppling him into the Earth underneath you. You turned back and did not see Ruddy move to get up, clearly knocked out cold in the dewy grass. Thomas struggled up against you, but you gripped his wrist weakly, snarling down at him as you whipped your head back.

“Thomas!”

He froze. The only light came from a few torches that the boys were bringing over, slow to rise after last night. The moon gave everything a sickly sheen. His brown eyes gleamed with their fire, blazing in the pitch-black night. You tightened your grip on his skin, feeling his pulse rocket under your touch, his tendons trembling with fury.

“[Name]?” he whispered. It was the last thing you could fully recall before suddenly, you had somebody clapping in your face, trying to wake you. Clearly, getting put into a chokehold was not a great idea for your memory, and you were losing bits and pieces of your consciousness. Your eyelids fluttered, exhaustedly. Sleep sounded like the best option for you, and you didn’t even care to see who was shouting your name until it was familiar.

“[Name], _please_ open your eyes.”

The tremble behind the words was enough for you to crank open one eye. Thomas was knelt in front of you, his warm hands on your shoulders. They hurriedly moved to catch your head as it lolled, your strength too sapped to keep it steady. 

“Hey,” you croaked, sounding like a flattened bull-frog. The worry that was painted onto his face pained your heart. You hated the mere idea of worrying him, but you supposed that things were too far gone that point. Even as your eyelids fell shut again, you took in a shaky breath, hoping to reassure him with a weak smile.

“Okay, well, let’s move her to the Homestead—”

“No, don’t touch her!”

The exchange of words were bright jolts of light against the red of your eyelids as you fluctuated in and out of consciousness. You were fighting sleep for Thomas’ sake, but there was very little you could do. In the end, you were defeated, but not before you felt him put your arms around his neck.

The last real memory you had was his arms wrapped around you as he hauled you somewhere, your legs dangling pleasantly in the air. For a moment, you had the image of a swinging green hammock on a sandy beach, sweet air in your nose as shade tickled your bare toes. Thomas’ grin was blinding against white sand and the endlessly blue ocean.

There wasn’t enough time to hold onto the thought, and sleep stole it away.

\---

Coming to was nasty business. Your throat felt like it’d swollen up to ten times its size, and breathing was tough. It was cold, and you touched it curiously, feeling an ice compress gently and carefully laid across the bruised skin. Your hand fell back into soft bedding while you struggled to get your eyes open.

When you looked around, your eyes caught on Thomas first, who had his head down. His knee jiggled and his hands were clasped together tightly. The severe curve of his back made your own ache, and you had to wonder how long he’d sat here, waiting.

“Thomas?” you whispered. It was all you could manage, but it was enough, and he looked up as if shocked. The chair screeched as he leapt out of it, scrambling closer to your bedside. Relief showed as a break in the grim cloudiness of his expression, and he leant over you, eyes scanning your face.

“You okay?” he asked hurriedly. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and he sighed. His entire body seemed to collapse when he did so, the musculature of his broad frame slumping forwards. 

“Good,” he murmured, nodding to himself. He stood and dragged the chair closer, taking a seat. You managed to push yourself up to a seated position, wincing every time the muscles in your neck moved.

“Take it easy,” Thomas warned, but you waved him off. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. There was a glass of water on a dilapidated table by the side of the cot. After a couple painful swallows, your throat opened up more, enough so for you to manage an _I’m okay_ to him.

“What happened to Ruddy?” you asked after finishing your drink. Your fingers were tight around the glass cup, anticipating tension. Thomas’ face darkened and he leant back in the chair, crossing his arms around himself loosely.

“He’s… secure. He’s just asleep.”

You nodded, unable to help a short breath of relief. Thomas hadn’t killed him. It was one of the rules of the Glade, after all: don’t harm another Glader. Ruddy might’ve been in clear violation, but you weren’t about to throw Thomas to the wolves for your sake.

“They’re Banishing him tomorrow night. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Thomas sighed wearily, suddenly dropping his head forwards and rubbing his temples. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done a better job of watching out for you.”

“It wasn’t as if you could’ve done anything. You saved my life. I’m not going to ask you for anything else.”

“I should’ve made sure that you weren’t put into that situation in the first place—” he muttered, clearly beginning the endless cycle of self-blame that Thomas seemed to love jumping into. It made you snap. There was no way Thomas could’ve changed anything, and he was too good of a person to constantly be followed by dark thoughts of guilt.

“No!” you snapped, the sharp change in volume making you wince. You touched your hands to your sore throat but bit past the pain, hell-bent on getting Thomas to see your point of view for once. “Look, blame yourself one more time and I’m going to go leap into the maze. All right? There wasn’t anything you could’ve done, and I’m grateful for what you _did_ do.”

An anti-climactic wheeze left you as you coughed, rasping. But you seemed to have gotten your message to him, for he was staring at you in total disbelief. The expression melted away before he laughed. The sound was so rare that you had to wonder if you were hallucinating it—but no, you really had gotten Thomas to laugh and smile at you. Your heart warmed.

“Okay. Fine. Have it your way. As long as you rest, all right?”

You nodded, sinking back into the pillows. His stern tone returned quickly, but you wouldn’t forget the gleam in his dark eyes as he smiled to himself, biting his lip to try and stifle it.

“You know,” you breathed, the relief allowing other memories to surface like shells at the wave front. “I dreamt about you and the ocean.”

“Really?” he seemed shocked, and you could only nod.

“It was nice. Peaceful. I just can’t remember why, or when.” You raised your head slightly to get a closer look at his face, swimming in his endless eyes. “Did I know you before this?”

“…I don’t know.” He scratched his head, looking as if he was too deep in thought to answer any other questions. You collapsed back into your bedding, closing your eyes. Your energy would take a while to rebuild, and for now, all you wanted was to get to bed. You heard Thomas sigh and opened your eyes again as he tucked the stool away, back on his feet.

“Look, I’ll let you get some sleep. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Wait, you’re going?”

The thought jolted you back up and you’d reached out to grab the hem of his shirt without thinking. He stopped moving and you quickly let go, accidentally having brushed his skin with your fingers.

“I… sorry. Go ahead.” Embarrassed, you sat back, hurriedly withdrawing your hand like an idiot. You hadn’t wanted him to leave. Even now, your heart pounded and your gut roiled at the idea of being away from him. Why were you being so clingy? Surely, it had to be annoying… even though you desperately wanted Thomas to quit blaming himself for what was happening to you, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. After all, you were the only one who was continually in need of being saved or taken care of. You didn’t see Chuck flailing around in the forest.

But why were you so attracted to Thomas in the first place? It went beyond his looks, and even beyond his personality—it felt like there was a deeper connection in place that you couldn’t quite describe. It felt like you couldn’t move a step without him. 

“No. I’ll stay, I don’t mind.” He sat down again, seeming not to notice your flushed complexion, to your gratitude. You knew the proper thing to do was to send him off, but you couldn’t get past your selfish relief of having him stay by your side.

“I _was_ thinking though,” he blurted out, so suddenly that it seemed like he was saying it now so that he wouldn’t psych himself out later. “About what you said. When you came up in the box, I didn’t think it was strange at first. I haven’t been around long enough to have any experience with people coming up, but it felt weirdly normal to see you. Maybe you’re right… maybe we knew each other before this.” With the word ‘this’, he waved his hands around vaguely, encapsulating the oppressive Glade.

“I have nothing to back it up but my gut feeling,” you muttered bitterly, angry that you couldn’t remember. It felt like it was _right_ there, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think of your past. Thomas’ hand landed on yours and you realized you’d been clutching the blankets with white-knuckled fists. Slowly, your fingers uncurled.

“Whether we did or didn’t, I’m glad to know you now.” His expression was wry, almost as if he knew something that you didn’t. His words made your heart skip a beat and you stared, unable to look away.

“Anyways, you should get to bed anyways. It’s pretty late.” He leant away, taking the warmth of his touch with him. Your heart ached as he did. He seemed to be able to read your expression and gave you another smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

“But what about you?” You checked out the cot, which was clearly haphazardly thrown together for one Glader. Thomas shrugged.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You have to sleep,” you argued. “You go out early every day.”

“Well…” He trailed off, unable to deny your statement. You moved over to the wall as close as you could, patting the spot beside you without a second’s hesitation. You were small enough to fit in with Thomas, but he merely stared at your hand, brow furrowed with distant confusion.

“It’s fine,” you prompted. “You can sleep on top of the covers if you find it weird.”

“I… okay.” A tinge of colour touched upon his tan skin and carefully, he lowered himself onto the mattress. Satisfied, you lay next to him. You were playing off the sudden rocket of adrenaline surging through your body, but the comfort that his warmth gave you soothed you. He was careful not to brush up against you, but his body heat radiated over anyways, lulling you back into sleep.

“Thanks,” you murmured. Figuring that you deserved a bit of indulgent comfort after nearly dying, you reached out, curling your fingers around the fabric of his shirt near his shoulder. Your head fell towards him, and you slept, comfortably nestled at his side.

\---

“Tommy, Greenie, get your shucking stupid asses up! Rise and shine, shanks!”

Minho was shaking your shoulder so violently that your vision was spinning when you opened your eyes. Swatting his hand away, you rose, only faintly aware of Thomas rubbing his face at your side.

“What is it?” he murmured hoarsely, his voice husky and low with morning grogginess.

“The doors are open.”

You thought that was yesterday’s news, and wasn’t sure of why there was so much panic in Minho’s normally grumpy tone. Thomas also seemed unsure, but the concern set in like ice when Minho continued.

“And there’s a goddamn Griever hanging at the doors.”

_Continue with the story on page 17._


	15. 15

_Minho._

“Minho!” you screamed, your voice raw from the force of it. His name was out of your mouth before you could even register that you were saying it. Shoving your hands into Ruddy’s face to distract him, you pleaded again, screeching with every ounce of strength you had: “Minho, help m—mmnfgh!”

Ruddy grabbed you roughly, one hand on your throat as the other slammed back onto your mouth. His blue eyes were wild and bright in the dark light as he pushed his weight onto your throat, choking you out. You thrashed and scratched, but he seemed to be far from pain. He needed to kill you to keep you quiet. Hell, did it matter why? He wanted to kill you. You were about to die.

You felt your heart pound and your lungs ache as your body pleaded for air, but Ruddy was far too strong than you. Your legs gave out first, dropping your body down onto the ground. Your trachea, bruised, felt like it was going to collapse in on itself as Ruddy pressed on it urgently. Your hands could merely twitch on his sweaty, slippery skin as he damned you. Your vision was as dark as the starless sky above. Your eyes closed despite your fear and you felt your consciousness slipping away like water between your fingertips. No matter how much you tried to keep it together, it was disintegrating. Fast.

“Get the hell off of her before I _murder_ you!”

The war cry made Ruddy’s grip tighten only for a moment before he was torn off of you, relieving the pressure on your throat. Rolling aside, you retched, gasping for breath. It hurt like hell as air whistled down your bruised windpipe with icy hot blades, but you finally felt your sight restore itself as you wheezed uselessly. Relief flooded you and you nearly burst out into tears. You’d lived.

Because of him. 

You forced yourself up, feeling the hands of other Gladers pulling you away from the Earth. People asked over and over in each ear if you were all right, but you waved them off, peering blearily into the dark. Two blurry figures rolled around in the leaves. Expletives, yelling, and confusion muddied the air. Your brain, still sluggish from both drinking and near death, was too slow to comprehend more than blinking. When a lantern was finally brought by, you saw Minho in its fleeting flash of light, the back of his head sparking your thought processes up again. The sight of his shoulders and the sounds of fists walloping a body connected, and you realized that Minho was wailing on Ruddy.

“Wait,” you breathed. It came out silent, and nobody heard, understandably. Your body was still shaking but you crawled forwards. Somebody brushed the back of your shirt to try and stop you.

“What are you doing—?”

“Minho,” you whimpered, trying to force your voice past the swelled lump in your throat. Ignoring the crowd of boys who were trying to help you, you crawled a few more feet. Your palms absorbed sharp pain as you dug them into rocks and hard pine cones. Ignoring that, too, you focused on his back. “Minho, stop…” 

“I should’ve killed you when I first caught you, you damn shank, you shuckin’ _creep_ , you goddamn son of a bitch, you—!”

You shouldn’t have cared about Ruddy. But the lack of response made your burning hot skin ice over with worry. Minho, still straddling the unresponsive boy, continued to nail Ruddy across the face with increasingly aggressive punches to the rhythm of his curses. You ground your teeth together and put your hand forwards a last time, dragging yourself the final inch. Minho’s elbow knocked against your jaw as you struggled to raise yourself. It was a dull ache that traversed through your bones, but you shook it off by concentrating on the back of his neck. Your hands locked around his muscular waist. Unable to speak, you merely squeezed, trying to fall backwards and topple him off of Ruddy.

“Get off of me!” Minho snarled, “I’m going to kill him!”

“No,” was all you could manage. It was one of the 3 rules of the Glade. _Don’t hurt another Glader_. Although Ruddy had practically dumped all over that, you weren’t about to get Minho into a load of repercussions just because he was trying to protect you. Ruddy might’ve deserved it, fine, but Minho didn’t deserve the weight that would come with bloodstained hands. 

Your sudden embrace surprised him enough to allow you to wrench him to the side. Ruddy remained motionless on the ground. Minho fell back onto you, doing you no favours for your weakness. Your arms slackened as your chest accepted the crushing weight.

Something had happened and you might’ve drifted out of consciousness, or just lost some of your memory. By the time you realized that you were realizing things, somebody had sat you up, and a nearby fire was burning your back. Hazily, you heard Minho hiss into your ear, his broad hand shaking your shoulder before cupping your cheek. 

“Okay, hey. Look at me. No, don’t close your eyes—look at me, Greenie. [Name], look at me!”

Your eyes wouldn’t open. You were so, so tired. It was much easier to just let go than to try and fight to hold on. Something hit your forehead, and the shock of something brushing against your face was enough for you to crank open one heavy eye. Minho stared back at you, his eyes wide and desperate. The firelight made his pupils shrink into pinholes, allowing you to admire the full brown of his gilded snakeskin eyes. He had so many freckles.

Your lips twitched weakly with a smile. “Sorry,” you attempted, rasping. No sound came out, and your lips moved in micro fractions. You coughed, but the sharp pain of it tore another chunk out of your memory with scalpel precision.

By the time you regained consciousness, you were in a bed, staring up at the ceiling of the Homestead. A cloth was on your forehead. Unable to move your neck because of the enormous weight of pain left behind by Ruddy, your eyes drifted to the side, seeing the top of Minho’s fine dark hair. His head bobbed, jerking backwards every time it dipped forwards. Every time he reset himself, his chin would fall forwards again, jerking backwards all over again. His eyes were shut and his arms were crossed as he sat at your bedside.

Who was he? Who were you? Why did you call for him when you were on the brink of death; why did he come for _you_? It wasn’t just him being a nice guy or doing what anybody else would do. There was something inside of him that had snapped, nearly turning him into a murderer. And _you’d_ been the trigger.

You tried to sit yourself up. Your arms felt sore from flailing around and was riddled with scrapes and bruises of all shapes and sizes. With difficulty, you managed to push yourself up. A glass of water sat beside Minho on a small, lopsided table. Wincing, your fingers trembled as you struggled to reach for it. Before you could get your hand around it, water suddenly sloshed in front of your eyes. Minho’s face was grim as he shoved the glass into your face, waiting for you to take it.

“You’re awake.” His succinct statement was flat, and you didn’t think he was going to elaborate. 

You opened your mouth but then thought better of it, and nodded. Minho nodded back, looking relieved. As relieved as he could get with the constant scowl painted on his grim face. The water was hard to get down since each swallow felt like it was going to knock you right out of the ballpark again, but its cool temperature helped to soothe the burn. Minho watched you drink painfully slowly before sighing, his gaze dropping down to his watch face.

“It’s still nighttime. Doors haven’t opened. But Ruddy’s secure this time. He’ll be asleep for a while.”

The visage of Minho coming down on Ruddy with the force of God was fresh in your mind. You couldn’t help a wan, self-deprecating smile. Why you? Was it really just because you were a girl and some stupid damsel in distress? You heard Gally in your head again. _Everything’s different now. Why? The only thing that’s different from us. The girl._

Everything really was starting to feel like it was your fault. If you’d been sent to the Glade for a reason, was it to screw up the order the boys had struggled to achieve for so long? In that case… would it have been better for Ruddy to take care of business after all? Your heart lurched.

Minho finally noticed your expression and scowled, his face looking especially dark in the burnt orange lamplight.

“Something funny?”

You shook your head, hair swinging. Your eyes betrayed any lie you might’ve tried to tell. The tendons in Minho’s jaw jumped as if he were trying to work something out in his head.

“You know, I thought this was going to be a great night. But I had to get into a goddamn brawl for you, huh? All I wanted was a damn drink and a good night’s sleep, and I get put through the ringer. For you.”

Despite his harsh words, you didn’t hear any anger or spite in his voice. In fact, he almost sounded as sad as somebody like Minho could get. You turned to look more closely at him before his fingers hit your forehead, collapsing you back into the cot. His face took up most of your vision as he looked down at you, amusement crinkling his eyes in contrast to your utter bewilderment.

“Well. Get some rest. We’ll figure things out tomorrow.”

_We?_ you thought. It was hardly even a couple of _days_ ago when Minho treated you with nothing more than scorn and derision. Last you checked, he hated you, alongside the mere thought of you. And now he was climbing into bed with you.

Why was he getting into the bed with you?!

“Relax, I’m not going to do anything Ruddy did. This is my bed and I’m not sleeping on the floor just because you’re in it. Scoot over. I said scoot!”

Hastily, you slid to the wall to give him space. The mattress was built for one person, but your slimmer figure allowed for Minho to squeeze in. Barely. His hairy legs wormed under the blanket, knocking up against the back of your knees. You could barely breathe as his back lay flat against yours, radiating heat.

“You need anything, poke me. You better really need it though. And don’t fart.”

The sheer strangeness of the situation petrified you. You couldn’t help but lay stiffly. Your heart was racing in your ears. Minho was literally right up on you. What were you supposed to feel? Weren’t you supposed to _not_ feel whatever you were feeling? Ruddy hadn’t even touched you, but you’d felt so disgusted at the thought of being anywhere near him. Now that Minho was basically your bed warmer, you didn’t feel the same. You barely even knew the guy. He’d done you a solid by saving your life, but surely, you didn’t need to freak out over him being so close to you, right?

But were you right in that you _didn’t_ know him…? Suddenly, you had an image of him grinning smugly at you, and you couldn’t remember where from.

Your thoughts scattered again when you felt the thin mattress creak. Minho rolled over, and you inhaled a reflexive gasp of shock when his hand came down on the top of your head. He mussed up the hair, before the hand slid away, fingers still nestled in the long locks that trailed to your back. His breath brushed the back of your neck warmly. His touch rested gently against the middle of your shoulder blades.

“You can trust me, all right? You can quit worrying about anything happening, so just go to sleep, already.”

He sounded annoyed, as if he was impatiently waiting for you to drift off before he was allowed to. Biting your lip, you drew together your last vestiges of courage and rolled onto your side to face him. You’d overestimated the distance and your nose practically grazed the tip of his. Moving back any more would roll you off onto the floor. Seeming unbothered, he raised an eyebrow in anticipation.

“Thanks,” you murmured hoarsely. Triumphantly for you, the word formed itself properly. You snuck a peek at his eyes to gauge his reaction. He sighed, the rush warmly washing over your face. His short eyelashes fluttered as he closed his eyes.

“Yeah. No problem.”

You’d expected another insult or snappy remark, but none came. He left it at that. 

Still, curiosity got the better of you and before you could really think about the consequences, you poked him. Disgruntledly, he responded with a gruff _what_ ,not bothering to open his eyes.

“Why’d you save me?” you asked, whispering quietly. Minho didn’t bother to do the same, practically snorting into your face.

“What are you, dumb? Did you _want_ to die?”

“I mean… why did you go to such measures for me?”

“I…” Suddenly, his brow furrowed and he opened his eyes to meet yours. Even in the candle light, you saw a blush rise and flood his tanned skin. Hurriedly, reached over and knocked you on the forehead, startling you enough to earn a yelp. The knuckles were purple and scraped with dark ugly bruises.

“Know what? I just decided that question time is over. Go to bed before I knock you out.”

“Fine, fine!” you complained, reaching up and rubbing your sore forehead. Minho caught your hand while your eyes were closed, and when you reopened them, his eyes were full of compassion.

“I don’t know why,” he said flatly. “But I’ve never felt like that before over anybody. So… stop making me worry, you weirdo.”

Finally, the anxiety drained out of your body, and fatigue pressed down on you after hearing his honest confession. You nodded sleepily, satisfied with it. 

Whenever tomorrow came, the two of you—‘we’—would figure it out. You didn’t bother to turn back around again. You slept nestled against his chest, and he was still holding onto your fingers.

\---

The sound of a door slamming against the wall woke you up, startling you so much that you jumped. Your head knocked against something painfully. After collecting yourself from the jarring wake-up call, you realized you’d head butted Minho. His arm slackened around you as he rolled farther into your body, groaning.

“Leave me alone,” he muttered. You stiffened with shock as he pressed his face to your body, his nose cold against your skin.

“Minho, [Name], get the hell up! This is important!”

You remembered that somebody must’ve opened the door and that you weren’t alone. You jerked up to a seated position, wrenching yourself out of Minho’s hold as you looked to the door. Newt was hanging onto the doorknob, panting as if he’d run all the way. His hair was flat but his eyes burned with panic that made your blood turn cold.

“What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly. Minho rose slowly, rubbing his eyes.

“The doors opened,” Newt said, still breathing hard for air.

“That happens every shuckin’ day!” Minho complained. He looked like he was about to lie down again before Newt stopped him with a chilling statement that made your thoughts blank out with fear.

“The doors opened _early_. And that’s not all; there’s a bloody Griever at our doorstep.”

_Continue with the story on page 17._


	16. 16

_Newt._

“Newt!”

The name was wrangled out of your throat, but you could think of nobody else. In this moment—the most vulnerable moment of your existence—you only trusted Newt to help you. Your scream was high pitched and pierced the humid Glade’s air, seeming to reverberate around the walls. Ruddy was swift to block your mouth before you could get anything else out. His bright blue eyes were feral in the dark night. That had been your only shot. Ruddy was now dead set on killing you.

You scrambled for another opening, but Ruddy had learnt from his mistakes, knocking you down into the ground and using his body weight to crush large hands into your trachea. Your nails dug uselessly into his flesh; he was far from any semblance of pain. His yellow teeth gleamed, grit determinedly as he tried to kill you quickly. No amount of fight deterred him. It took no time at all for the lack of air to weaken you, making your body slacken. Panic coursed through your blood. Your vision, growing increasingly blurrier, showed no sign of relief from Ruddy’s snarl. This was it; this was where you’d die. Closing your eyes, you saw Newt’s pained smile before—

A blood curdling scream that rivalled yours ripped through the air. Disoriented, you had no way of knowing who it was, only able to concentrate on the fact that you were suddenly able to breathe.

Ruddy’s weight disappeared and you retched, gasping down air that tasted like molten iron. The fuzzy numbness while you were losing consciousness was harshly replaced with burning hot pain, but you were never gladder to be alive.

You lay motionless, chest heaving as you weakly sucked air down your bruised throat. People were clamouring around you now, asking if you were all right, but you couldn’t reply. For now, all you could do was breathe. Had Newt really saved you after all? He’d been the last thing you thought of—not your impending doom, or the fear. You’d thought of Newt. 

Collecting the last of your strength, you rose, abdomen trembling with the strain. You collapsed again but caught yourself on your hands, peering blearily out into the dark. People were around you, trying to haul you to your feet, but you swatted them away. Your sight was still undulating with phases of blurriness, but you followed your ears to the sound of a fight.

“Get off of me!” Ruddy roared, but a carnivorous growl escaped the figure on top of him. The mop of blond hair was strikingly familiar and your blood froze when you realized it was Newt. The two boys grappled with each other, rolling over and over in the dirt. Newt struck Ruddy with more violence than you could’ve ever imagined from the gentle soul, and soon, Ruddy no longer seemed to be able to protest.

“Hit me! Go on, bloody hit me! Serves you right, you damn bastard—!”

The voice seemed eerily disconnected, like it wasn’t quite real. Everything seemed to be moving slowly as your starved brain tried to recollect itself. But you had to get up and stop Newt. Even if Ruddy deserved all the pain in the world, you weren’t about to stoop to his level and let him die. Your concern was more towards Newt—the boy already seemed like he had so much weight behind him. You weren’t about to let him add to it.

Unable to speak, you merely got up, propelled by little more than emotion. Newt was drawing back one hand to strike Ruddy across the face, and you caught it, crumpling with it as your knees gave.

“[Name]?!” he exclaimed, startled as you clutched his hand to your chest. You opened your mouth, but words were far from reach, so you merely shook your head.

 _Don’t_ , you mouthed. Newt’s long hair had tangled, resembling a wild lion’s mane as he glared at you in the hot night. His sky-blue eyes seemed to be ablaze with fury. His fist was still clenched in your arms, but you cradled it, keeping him from attacking Ruddy. The redhead was motionless on the ground, his pockmarked face already swelling in disgusting patterns. For all you knew, he was dead.

Finally, Newt seemed to come to his senses. His hand relaxed first, and then his expression softened, returning to the melancholy state you always knew it as. Relieved and satisfied that he was no longer going to end Ruddy’s life, you let out a smile of your own, allowing your eyes to shut. You keeled forwards.

By the time you regained consciousness, somebody had propped you up against a hard tree. Newt called your name, his voice raw and getting more desperate each time. You would’ve liked to open your eyes and tell him you were fine, but the most you could muster was awareness of the people talking around you.

“Is she dead?” somebody asked worriedly. You felt air move in front of your face and the whine of pain from a bruised arm.

“Don’t you dare say that again. She’ll be _fine_. [Name], love, just open your eyes. Come back to me.”

His voice softened, but the reedy pitches of fear crept in. You sucked in a deep breath through your nose, forcing every bit of strength in your body to coordinate with your eyes. You managed to lift them enough to see Newt through your eyelashes, his face painfully worried. He noticed your eyelashes fluttering. His eyes lit up and he grabbed both sides of your face, his touch relaxing to be gentle as he stared into your eyes.

“[Name]? [Name], you all right?”

“Peachy,” you muttered dryly, hoping to score a laugh and lift some of the pain from his face. It was all you could manage before slipping back under, but the warmth of his roughened hands comforted you.

When you finally woke up again, you had enough energy to stay awake. You stared up at the ceiling, waiting for your eyes to be accustomed to the dark light. Shadows jumped from a candle light. All you could think about was the crushing pain lingering on your chest and throat. You touched the skin, wincing as you prodded the melange of bruises. This would be sore for a while.

After laying around for a while, you managed to focus your attention on getting yourself upright. When you moved your arm back to prop your body up, you felt another hand rest on your shoulder blade, supporting you. You looked over, unable to meet Newt’s gaze as he stared down at the bed.

“Here, drink this.”

He passed you water along with two white circular tablets. You eyed them warily and he gestured more emphatically for you to take them.

“They’re my painkillers. It should help.”

Your gaze flicked up to his as he dropped them into your palm. You didn’t want to be stealing his drugs, but you didn’t have the voice to argue with him, and he’d probably grieve more if you _didn’t_ take them. They were bitter and felt like knives scraping against your raw throat, but the water helped. You drank it all greedily, wiping droplets from your lips with your hand when you were done. Newt watched, his eyes glazed over almost disinterestedly. When you finished, he took the glass back from you, setting it back on the bedside table.

“They’ll make you drowsy, so go on back to bed. I’m watching over you, so you needn’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about me,” you breathed, now able to manage whispers of speech. He leant in closer to hear you, making it all the more easy for you to spy the darkened patches under his eyes. “I’m worried about _you_.”

“Me?” he repeated, seeming surprised. “Why me?”

“You look like you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep… not to mention you’re all scratched up.” You reached out, gently placing your fingers on a nasty looking scrape that had probably been dealt by his scuffle with Ruddy. He flinched when you touched it and you backed your hands off, before moving them to his chin, the way he had cupped your face earlier. 

“I’m fine,” he said. You shook your head. It was all he’d ever been saying. Maybe the others bought it, and maybe Newt bought it, but you could not accept his lies any longer.

“You’re not,” you said firmly. “You’re not fine, Newt. I know that.”

“I am. It’s not a big deal. Clint’ll patch me up in no time—”

“I’m not talking about that.” Your eyes drifted down to the leg that was splayed out straight, unable to be bent like the other. His own gaze tracked yours before he realized what you were thinking. He sighed deeply, and it sounded like the exhale took a piece of his soul with him.

“That was a long time ago, [Name]. There’s nothing I can do about it anymore.” His voice was low but pitiful, more so for you than for him. It was like he pitied you for bothering to care about _him_ , and that angered you.

“It might’ve been a long time ago, but it hurts you every day. I can see that. It’s not just the pain, right? It’s how you got it in the first place! The _memories_ haunt you and that hurts more than any damn leg!”

The nonchalant stance he’d tried to take dissolved as he stared at you, fear suddenly alive in his crystalline blue eyes. Your momentum made you keep talking, even going so far as to snap your hand out and grip the fabric of his shirt. Despite the hoarseness of your voice and the residual weakness and pain, you were passionate, your focus on his face as you tried to get it through his thick skull.

“Look, I know you jumped.”

“How the hell d’you know that?” Newt snapped, regaining his composure and ripping himself out of your grasp. He didn’t leave, instead, turning his back to you, arms crossed tightly around himself to shield himself from your words. “Did Minho tell you?” he accused, speaking nastily to the wall.

“No, nobody did!” you argued, trying to clamber out of bed to follow him. “I just… know, okay?! I know you did something to yourself, and I know it follows you around every day. Which is why I’m telling you that you need to stop taking care of _me_ and take care of _yourself_ for once!”

It was true. Nobody had told you. But ever since you’d been thrown into the Glade, and known about Newt’s disability, you seemed to have a feeling that it wasn’t just a lame leg from some freak accident. Thomas had made it out to be unserious when you’d first asked, but you’d known he was lying. Newt was lying. For some reason, it made total sense to you that Newt had hurt himself years ago by leaping from the walls, despite your never having heard of this idea. Every time you saw the stone monoliths, they made your skin crawl, even though they had done nothing to you.

“You’re the one who nearly bloody died tonight!” Newt countered, just as hotly, rounding on you. You were only able to touch two feet to the ground when he stormed over, throwing his hands down on your shoulders with the same sharp anger that he’d exerted onto Ruddy. It made you freeze. Newt heaved for a breath before his head drooped, his hands relaxing as they slipped from your shoulders. Slowly, he sat back onto the stool, taking a moment to regain his composure before looking back up at you.

“I don’t know how you know… but you’re right. Hell, you’re right with everything.” He gave you a dry, self-deprecating smile that merely made your gut drop with pain at the sheer self-hatred present in his expression. He continued in the same gaunt tone, as if there was no point to anything at all.

“When I saw Ruddy on you, I… snapped. I totally lost it. I can’t even remember what I did to the guy. The only other time I’ve ever blacked out like that was when I jumped from the wall. So yeah, you’re right.”

He seemed to have totally collapsed in on himself. You reached out, taking his head back in your hands, lifting it so that he would meet your eyes. 

“You must think I’m pathetic,” Newt muttered with another angry snort. “I mean, here you are, recovering from nearly being murdered… I’m moping about things that happened years back—”

“It doesn’t ever leave you,” you interjected sadly. “That feeling of hopelessness. You act like things are fine now and everybody believes it, but do _you_?”

“…no.” He took one of his large hands, removing yours and then squeezing it tightly. “Nothing ever changes and nothing ever did. I thought it might be easier if there was nothing at all. I might’ve been wrong, but look. We’re still just as bloody trapped as we ever were.”

“Something did change.” You tightened your own hold on his hand, and saw him look up at you. Wryly, you couldn’t help but smile. “I showed up.”

“Well…” he laughed, too, bringing a sweep of relief over you like a cool wave. He nodded once. “Yeah. I suppose you were different.”

“You’re not alone,” you continued. “You don’t have to carry yourself _alone_.”

“But don’t you get it?” He had lost his anger and merely asked you tiredly, staring at your conjoined hands. “I’m the leader here. Alby has no doubt. Minho doesn’t, either. Hell, Tommy just came up and he’s moving us closer and closer to the exit than we’ve ever been. But me…? People look up to me, but I’ve got so many damn doubts that you wouldn’t believe.”

“You may be a leader to them,” you said once he’d finished, your voice absolute. “But you’re just Newt to me. I’ve got you, Newt. Just like you have me.”

He gripped your hand tighter before looking up at you, nodding. Slowly at first, and then with resolution.

“All right, [Name]. All right. But go to bed now, will you? You need rest.”

“I’m not letting go,” you said stubbornly, with a bit of mischief. “So you’ll need to sleep, too.”

“Where?”

“Beside me. Where else?” You moved closer towards the wall and yanked on the hand, bringing him tumbling onto the cot. He seemed stunned, still, and you stifled a laugh to prevent the pain of it on your throat.

“You’re really strange, aren’t you?” he murmured wondrously. He shook his head. “Fine, then. But _sleep_.”

You nodded obligingly, allowing your heavy eyelids to fall shut. The comforting darkness of the room and the warmth of his hand and body entwined with yours lulled you to sleep in no time, leaving Newt to stare at your face with the awe of somebody seeing stars for the first time.

\---

“Newt, [Name]. Get up!”

You jerked yourself awake, Thomas’ panicked voice the last thing you would’ve expected at this time. Blearily, you tried to squint through the grogginess to look at him.

“Bloody hell, Tommy, it’s too early for this—”

“Listen to me, Newt. The doors opened early.”

Newt froze, tension in his shoulders. You touched your hand to his back, realizing that things were graver than you’d thought.

“And?” Newt asked warily. You didn’t want to hear what Thomas would say next, but the dark-haired boy shook his head.

“And there’s a Griever in the doorway.”

_Continue with the story on page 17._


	17. 17

You scrambled to your feet and ran to the front of the Homestead, your ears washing out with white, panicked static. Surely this was nothing but a bad joke, some sort of punishment for causing such a huge problem with Ruddy, right? Some kind of weird Glader ritual? Or, maybe it was merely a hyper-realistic dream. A really bad one. You couldn’t think about anything else but the urge to disprove it. This just could not happen; not now, when things were finally settling into place.

You burst outside, gasping hard for air as you held your bruised throat. The adrenaline burning in your veins made it easy to forget about any pain. Your eyes scanned the four walls, the black gaps between them signifying the ominous open doors. A hundred eyes turned to you. Everybody in the entire Glade was huddled around the Homestead, breaths held, as if daring to say anything would bring Armageddon raining down on the ungrateful. Somebody pointed and you followed his finger. Your face drained of blood and you stood, dumbly, staring at the gigantic Griever.

The monster sat perched outdoors, waiting. In the silence of the wide-open Glade, you heard it. Clicking. Ticking. Waiting. Like it was standing offstage, anticipating its cue to start the grand show. You heard it before you really saw it, and your heart clawed with overwhelming fear. It was something like five metres tall, reared up on its skeleton. Its body was long and tubular, like a mutated caterpillar. It shone in the early sun, glistening with slick slime. Sharp teeth signified a horrifying mouth, and with it, a macabre gullet. Man-made weapons like rusted sawblades and shiny claws protruded from its body. 

Your throat burned with bile. This was no dream.

“What do we do?” Thomas hissed. He, Minho, and Newt crowded by your sides, huddling together. Thomas continued, his deep brown eyes continually drifting towards the Griever distractedly. “It apparently hasn’t moved since the doors opened early.”

“We’ve no weapons that can take on a bloody _Griever_ ,” Newt mumbled, shaking his head grimly. “This has never happened before. We ought to bunker up and wait it out. The doors are going to have to close eventually.”

“Bunker up—no, there’s no way that we can protect everybody. Look, Newt, there’s only one of them. What if the doors _don’t_ close tonight? They opened early, didn’t they? Everything is off the table. We have to take it on before it decides to stop sitting around and take _us_ ,” Minho argued, in his own mutilated version of a whisper. You couldn’t add anything to either side, paralyzed as your eyes caught on a particularly jagged blade. 

Alby then trotted over, his imposing stature quieting even the bull-headed Asian boy.

“Nobody’s tried to get close because we don’t want to accidentally lure it in. I have no goddamn idea what the damn things wants, but it’s been waiting out there ever since the doors opened two hours early. I got everybody to congregate here at the Homestead… but this is bad.” He looked at you warily, and you knew immediately that he blamed you for it. Newt was right; this had never happened before, so why now? Had Gally been right all along about you? You were the new variable in the equation, after all. Guilt roiled in your gut.

 _This is bad._ As if anybody needed to state that outright.

“It’s primed,” you muttered, distantly, your thoughts suddenly fogging over after you averted your gaze to avoid their looks of disappointment. Your eyes moved back up to the Griever. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it any more. It was at the West exit, which was the closest to the Homestead. The gelatinous mass that was armed with sharp, metal contraptions was gruesome, even when it did nothing. It was a light shade of green and sat almost perfectly still if not for its occasional throbbing and eerie clicks.

“What?” Alby asked you, rightfully confused.

“Its needle is out. I think… it wants to sting somebody…”

They all turned to look. You were right; the only thing protruding from its body now was a long, shiny needle. The rest of its blades, weapons, arms, and sharp legs were retracting inside its fatty body as if to keep them ‘hidden’, despite the transparency of its goopy mass.

“Okay, so maybe if we… Greenie? Hey, moron, what do you think you’re doing?!”

You didn’t quite know yourself. Each click of the Griever made your head progressively duller, until you felt as if you were watching your body move in a dream from behind. You made a weak attempt to figure out what was going on, but you couldn’t raise your hand to your ears to block out the guttural clicking noises. Your limbs were rubbery and numb as you mechanically moved yourself closer to the Griever.

“Hey, hey, _stop_! The hell are you doing? Do you _want_ a death wish?!” Alby stepped in front of you, but you walked right past him, wondering why he was stopping you. Wasn’t it obvious that you had to get to that Griever? Your ankle twisted as you stepped in a ditch, but you ignored the jolt of pain, getting back up to your feet as you limped closer to the Griever.

You tried to take another step before somebody’s hand gripped your wrist, yanking you back. You turned lethargically to look, meeting his eyes as he stared at you with disbelief.

“You can’t go out there,” he said, slowly, to try and make some sense of why you were waltzing towards the scary death thing. 

“I have to,” you replied monotonously. You yanked yourself out of his hands with strength you didn’t know you possessed and began to run, a breakneck sprint towards the Griever. Lethargy was forgotten. It wasn’t far—thirty, twenty meters or so—but he was faster than you. He skidded in front of you and caught your body in its path, knocking the air out of your lungs because you were too slow to dodge him. He wrapped his arms around you to keep you from budging, but you fought him, teeth ground together. Your heels dug in the soft soil, craning your neck to look over your shoulder at the Griever. You needed to get to that Griever. It kept clicking, each one unbearably driving through your skull. You screamed, frustrated, the bruised windpipe from yesterday non-existent.

“Let me go!” you shrieked, grappling with his hands. “Let me _go_!”

“Stop!” he shouted down at you, panicking while you wrestled against his arms, “what’s _wrong_ with you?!”

You spotted movement and relaxed, allowing him to start dragging you back to the Homestead. Distance wouldn’t help you, or anybody. The Griever seemed to have gotten impatient at its prey getting carted away when it was so close, and was now digging metallic claws into the precious earth of the Glade. What used to be safe haven had tracks of Griever moving across it, violating it, and it was making a beeline towards nobody other than you.

Only, _he_ was still holding you, shielding you from the monster. It reared on its spider-like legs, the needle gleaming in the dawn sun. The Griever let out a blood-curdling squeal, metal grinding upon metal. If you didn’t get him out of the way, he’d be stung. Maybe worse. Despite that very real possibility, he clutched you close to his chest in a protective manner. People screamed at you, but you were still unfocused, feeling his arms around your body. You couldn’t fathom anything else besides his heartbeat against your cheek. It was fast with fear, a more frantic tempo than the lethargic, steady clicks of the Griever. Your eyes shut for a moment, and you remembered feeling this way before.

It was like when you had to first climb out of the box. Everything had been so strange and different, with the gaping hole of your memory and the sudden prospect of being trapped in a maze. And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about _him_ , the one who was holding you close to protect you.

That wouldn’t do.

It was clear what you had to do. The fuzziness dissipated. Even before you moved, you felt as if your memories had all suddenly fallen into place, like a giant sheet had just been whipped off of them as you faced real death in the eye for the umpteenth time. They had been there all along. This was the trigger; this was _why_ you had been thrown down here like a pathetic rat to a pit of starving snakes. You remembered it all. The plan—to the last bullet point—was unfolding into its climactic coda. 

You knew him. You knew everything there was to know about Minho, Newt, and Thomas. Gally. Chuck. Alby. The dead ones, too. The boy that Minho had mentioned was similar to you—how could you have forgotten about Tyson, who’d never failed to make you laugh, who had the same hair colour and eyes as you? Niel, the poor kid, had tried to teach you his mother tongue of Hindi when the guards of WICKED weren’t looking. Even Ruddy, his pockmarked face scarring your heart, was somebody you used to play checkers with at bedtime.

They had been your friends, but _him_ in particular... there was more to him than the rest. There was a reason why this was all happening. Your nerves burnt and tingled with shock as you remembered all you had forgotten. It was an overload and you couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with wave after wave of powerful emotion. Memories whipped past your mind’s eye as if you were riding a train, watching lights and billboards streak by in their psychedelic neon beauty. 

It wasn’t just some vague feeling. How could you forget? God, you knew him. You _loved_ him. 

You’d do anything for him.

He seemed to realize what you were trying to do, but far too late. His hand grazed the back of your hair, the way it used to so affectionately in the past—you nearly wept with relief as the warm flood of your memories washed into your blood, reaching every cell of your body with thoughts of him. He called your name with panic. You didn’t have time to turn and give him a last look before the Griever’s needle pierced your chest, driving cold fluid deep into your heart. 

Your strength winked out immediately, and your body crumpled to the ground. The needle’s serum was forced into your bloodstream with a burning ache, before retracting like nothing had happened. Fire bled through your body. You knew why. You knew what was in the Griever’s venom because you helped manufacture the chemical formulation yourself. Muscle relaxant, anesthetic, and memory stimulating drugs… to say the least. It’d take its effect on you soon.

He dropped with you and was at your side first, dragging you out of the Griever’s reach as it screamed with victory. There were still sounds of fighting and screaming, but your eyelids drooped heavily. The ground smelled sweetly of soil and grass. He cradled your face, muttering your name repetitively in a horrified chant. You weakly fought the grogginess to place your hand to his face.

“I love you,” you choked out, past your numbing tongue. He had to know. After you’d said it, you allowed yourself to succumb to the powerful drugs, and your hand fell.

He stared down at you with wide-eyed confusion. You saw your reflection in his deep eyes, and caught the spark of realization just as your consciousness slipped.

\---

“How does oxytocin strengthen trustworthiness amongst humans?”

You couldn’t help but close your eyes as the doctor lectured, his voice monotonous enough to lull you into sleep. These neuroscience classes were all mandatory for WICKED test subjects, but you didn’t give a damn. You weren’t here to be noble and save the world. You were here because you had to be; because the fate and future of humankind rested on your shoulders.

Besides, _he’d_ kept you up far too late for you to be functional in early morning classes. 

You opened your eyes a sliver to catch a peep of him, and saw him already looking at you with a smug, tight-lipped grin concealed on his features. Your eyes dropped to the desk so that he wouldn’t notice you blush. You struggled to force yourself awake and pulled your uniform jacket up to your chin, a self-conscious tingle dancing across the back of your neck. He suppressed the growing smile behind his hand.

“…and finally. Love. In adolescence, attraction is much more powerful than in adults. What insignificant neurotransmitters in synapses manipulate humans to sacrifice? What electrochemical signals make up this idea of love? What force drives you to love somebody? In the maze… some of you will die.

How will that affect your brain’s ability to love?”

Your attention was suddenly sharp when the doctor finally brought up the objective. The maze. Everybody else stirred, too, suddenly anxious. The scientists often avoided talking about the maze and the more gruesome details, afraid that it’d scare their precious subjects out of willful participation (as if any of you had a choice in the first place). Would it even matter after the memory wipe? Your stomach felt like it had sunk a hole into the plastic chair, and you could no longer meet his eyes. He didn’t know what your role was going to be in the maze—you’d only just found out recently, yourself—but the start date was fast-nearing. 

You hadn’t come here to fall in love. You hadn’t come here to do anything. But you were slotted into this experiment alongside the others, and with that came a connection that wasn’t insignificant enough for you to let go. It wasn’t insignificant enough for WICKED to let go, either. They pounced on it hungrily, willing to sacrifice anything—even their own damn humanity—for test results.

_How will that affect your brain’s ability to love?_

How strong is the pull of mutual dedication? Would it demolish the artificial dams of memory that WICKED would stick into yours and his heads? Because soon enough, he’d forget about everything he was and everything you were. And soon, you’d be flung back to him, not able to remember the way he used to cherish your name.

Would he remember if you died in front of him? Does love transcend all known obstacles?

“Dismissed.”

Ruddy leapt to his feet and raced out the room, probably to screw around with his build project to spy into the girl’s dormitories. You gave a weak smile to Chuck, who was your deskmate, and watched him go. You wondered if the youngest boy would be one of the first to die. You went to bed every night hoping that things would change, but they never did. Nothing ever changed unless it was for worse.

Then, _he_ was by your side before you could leave, nudging your shoulder.

“Tired?” he teased, connotatively. You could only give him a wry smile, unable to shake the impending doom off of your face.

“I guess.”

“You okay?” he asked immediately, sensing that something was off. His hand landed on your shoulder comfortingly, but it burnt you. You sighed shakily, tense.

“Um…”

You were about to open your mouth to admit that no, you weren’t okay—but your name was called. You turned, and the doctor pointed at the boy next to you, too.

“Give us some privacy, [Name]. I’ll need to debrief him.”

“Wait—!” you protested, panicked. The doctor shook his head firmly as if he anticipated what you were about to say and pointed out the door.

“You made your choice.”

It wasn’t true. You hadn’t had a choice in any of it. Your choice was _comply or we kill you now rather than later_.

“[Name],” the boy at your side said hesitantly, eyeing you and the doctor suspiciously. “What’s going on?” He put his hand on your upper back protectively, his hand brushing against your hair.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” The doctor grabbed his shoulder and pulled him deeper into the classroom before you could say anything further. Somebody else had taken your own arm, nearly ripping it out of its socket as they hauled you out of the classroom. You blurted out his name as he was yanked out of your reach—now, and possibly forever. Your own name was echoed to you before the door slammed shut. Your heart raced, burning cold, and everything felt like it was moving too fast. Even with both palms to the door, you could feel nothing left of his trace. 

That boy. The boy you desperately loved… the boy that they were going to rip away from you was…

  
I. If you answered mostly 4, 7, 12, 14 — continue to **page 18.**  
II. If you answered mostly 2, 8, 11, 16 — continue to **page 19.**  
III. If you answered mostly 3, 6, 10, 15 — continue to **page 20.**

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/diZ9K5


End file.
